'      THi      « 


i!iRAE2ES  ^ 


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THE  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZA- 
TION FROM  THE  FALL  OF 
THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE  TO  THE 
FRENCH    REVOLUTION      ^      a* 


BY 

FRANCOIS  PIERRE   GUILLAUME  GUIZOT 

FORMERLY    PROFESSOR    OF    HISTORY     IN    THE    FACULTY    OF    LITERATURE 
AT    PARIS,    AND    MINISTER    OF    PUBLIC    INSTRUCTION 


VOLUME    I 


NINTH  AMERICAN,   FROM   THE  SECOND  ENGLISH  EVITION, 
WITH  OCCASIONAL  NOTES 

BY   C.   S.    HENRY,   D.  D. 

PROFESSOR   OF   PHILOSOPHY    AND    HISTORY    IV    THE    UNIVERSITY   OP 
THE   CITY    OF    NEW    YORK 


NEW    YORK 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1897 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  lSi2,  by 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 

In  tlio  Ckrk's  Oflice  of  tbo   District  Court  of   the  United    States  for  the 

Soutliern  District  of  New  Yorli. 


PREFACE 

TO   THE 

THIRD    AMERICAN  EDITION 


Thf,  adoption  of  this  work  as  a  text-book  by  nuincious  in 
stitutions,  and  the  demand  for  a  third  edition  within  so  short  a 
period,  indicate  the  favorable  estimation  in  which  it  is  held  in 
this  country. 

In  complying  with  the  request  of  the  publishers  to  superin- 
tend the  present  edition,  the  editor  has  seen  fit  to  add  a  few 
noies,  which,  if  of  no  value  to  the  accomplished  historical 
scholar,  may  perhaps  be  of  some  use  to  the  younger  student. 
He  takes  this  occasion  to  ofTer  a  few  observations  on  the 
study  of  history,  and  on  the  use  which  he  conceives  may  bt 
made  of  works  like  the  present. 

The  study  of  history  is  a  necessary  part  of  a  thorough  edu- 
cation Aside  from  its  more  immediate  practical  advantages 
a  full  and  familiar  knowledge  of  history  is  requisite  to  the 
most  liberal  cultivation  of  the  mind.  Accordingly,  the  study 
of  history  has  always  h  id  a  place  in  the  course  of  instruction 
pursued  in  our  higher  institutions. 

Precisely  here,  however,  lies  a  serious  difiiculty.  History 
18  not^  like  many  of  the  other  studies  prescribed  in  such  a 
course,  a  science  whose  leadmg  principles  can  be  systemati- 
cally exhibited  within  a  moderate  compass,  and  of  which  ,i 
complete  elementary  knowledge  can  be  imparted  within  a 
limited  time  There  is,  properly  speaking,  no  short  road  to 
a  competent  knowledge  of  history     For  any  valuable  purpose 


6 


PBEFACU. 


there  ia  really  no  such  thing  as  an  elementary  study  of  historj'. 
It  is  not  worth  while  to  study  it  at  all,  unless  it  be  thoroughly 
studied.  A  thorough  knowledge  of  it  cannot,  however,  be 
imparted  in  the  lecture  room ;  it  must  be  acquired  by  be 
student  himself  in  the  solitary  labor  of  the  closet.  The  niosl 
accomplished  instructer  can  do  nothing  more  than  to  assiai 
him  in  pursuing  his  investigations  for  himself.  He  muat 
study  special  histories.  He  must  carefully  examine  the  best 
Bources, — if  possible,  the  original  sources.  He  must  make 
himself  familiar  with  the  details — at  least  o[  all  the  mosJ 
important  portions — of  .he  history  of  the  world  This  is  the 
work  of  years. 

It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  a  thorough  knowledge  of  his 
lory  can  never  be  acquired  in  the  time  allowed  for  its  stud} 
in  the  usual  course  of  public  instruction.  The  same  thiniJ 
may  perhaps  be  said  to  hold  true  of  other  studies.  To  a  cer- 
tain extent  it  does.  Still,  in  regard  to  most  of  the  othei 
studies,  more  can  be  done  within  the  allotted  time  towards  ac- 
quiring a  competent  knowledge  of  them,  than  can  be  done  in 
regard  to  history.  A  good  foundation  may  be  laid  ;  a  suc- 
cessful beginning  may  be  made.  In  respect  to  h'story  it  is 
far  more  difficult. 

In  what  way,  therefore,  to  occupy  the  time  allotted  to  his- 
tory to  the  best  advantage,  is  a  perplexing  problem. 

To  devote  the  whole  period  to  the  study  of  some  compena 
uf  universal  history,  contaiiiing  a  summary  or  abridgment  of 
all  the  special  histories  of  the  world,  is  a  very  connnoij 
method.  Yet  such  works,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  caiA  bt- 
Dut  little  more  to  the  young  student  than  a  barren  mass  of 
dates,  names,  and  dead  facts.  Wo  might  as  well  expect  tc 
gain  a  correct  and  lively  impression  of  the  form,  features,  and 
fcxpression  of  a  living  man  from  the  contemplation  of  iho  hu- 
man skeleton,  as  to  acquire  a  true  knowledge  of  histur) 
from  such  abridgments  alone.  "  Abridgments,"  as  Professoi 
Smyth  well  remarKs^  '  have  their  use,  but  to  read  them  as  i 


PREFAOB. 


y 


more  summary  method  of  acquiring  historical  knowledge,  is 
not  their  use,  nor  can  be.  When  the  detail  is  tolerably  knowr,, 
he  summary  can  then  be  understood,  but  not  before.  Sum- 
maries may  always  serve  most  usefully  to  revive  the  know 
ledge  which  has  been  before  acquired,  may  throw  it  into 
pioper  shapes  and  proportions,  and  leave  it  in  this  state  upon 
the  memory,  to  supply  the  materials  of  subsequent  reflection 
But  general  histories,  if  they  are  read  first,  and  before  the 
particular  history  is  known,  are  a  sort  of  chain,  of  which  the 
links  seem  not  connected ;  contain  representations  and  state 
ments,  which  cannot  bo  unjorstood,  and  therefore  cannot  be 
remembered  ;  and  exhibit  to  the  mind  a  succession  of  objects 
5Jid  images,  each  of  which  appears  and  retires  too  rapidly  to 
be  surveyed  ;  and,  when  the  whole  vision  has  passed  by,  as 
60on  it  does,  a  trace  of  it  is  scarcely  found  to  remain.  Were 
I  to  look  from  an  eminence  over  a  country  which  I  had  never 
before  seen,  I  should  discover  only  the  principal  objects ;  the 
villa,  the  stream,  the  lawn,  or  the  wood.  But  if  the  landscape 
before  me  had  been  the  scene  of  my  childhood,  or  lately  of 
m.y  residence,  every  object  would  bring  along  with  it  all  its 
attendant  associations,  and  the  picture  that  was  presented  to 
the  eye  would  be  the  least  part  of  the  impression  that  was 
received  by  tlie  mind.  Such  is  the  difference  between  read- 
ing general  histories  before,  or  after,  the  particular  histories 
to  which  they  refer." 

I  must  not,  indeed,  omit  to  observe,"  continues  the  same 
writer,  '*  that  there  are  some  parts  of  history  so  obscure  and 
of  80  little  importance,  that  general  accounts  of  them  arc 
all  that  can  eithei  be  expected  or  acquired.  Abridgments  and 
general  histories  must  here  be  used.  Not  that  much  can  o« 
hu8  received,  but  that  much  is  not  wanted,  and  that  what 
Jttlc  is  necessary  may  be  thus  obtained. 

"  must  also  confess  that  general  histcries  may  in  like 
manner  be  resorted  to,  for  the  purpose  of  acquiring  a  genera] 
notion  of  the  great  leading  features  of  any  particular  history 


9  PREFACE. 

they  may  be  to  the  student  what  maps  are  to  the  Ira vi  Her, 
and  give  an  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  country,  and  of  the  mag 
nitude  and  situation  of  tne  towns  through  which  lie  is  to  pass  ; 
thoy  may  teach  him  what  he  is  to  expect,  and  at  what  points 
te  is  to  be  the  most  diligent  in  his  inquiries. 

*'  Viewed  in  this  lignt,  general  histories  may  be  considered 
&6  of  great  importance,  and  that  even  before  the  perusal  of 
lUe  particular  histories  to  which  they  refer  ;  but  they  urns 
never  be  resorted  to  except  in  the  instances,  and  for  the  pur 
poses  just  mentioned  ; — they  must  not  be  read  as  substitutes 
for  more  minute  and  regular  histories,  nor  as  short  methods  of 
quiring  knowledge."* 

While,  therefore,  the  time  devoted  to  history  in  oui  usual 
course  of  public  instruction  may  not  be  altogether  lost,  even 
if  wholly  employed  in  the  study  of  some  general  compendium 
there  is  yet  great  danger  that  its  fruit  will  be  merely  the  me- 
chanical acquisition  of  a  mass  of  dead  facts,  soon  forgotten. 

The  zealous  teacher  will  naturally  feel  a  strong  desire  to 
lead  his  pupils  to  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
living  spirit  of  history,  the  true  meaning  and  significance  of 
its  mere  facts.  In  this  view  resort  is  often  had  to  such  works 
as  this  of  Guizot  and  others,  which  treat  of  what  is  called 
the  philosophy  of  history.  But  in  such  works  a  knowledge 
of  the  facts  wh.ch  are  made  the  basis  of  generalization  and 
reflection,  is  almost  wholly  presumed  ;  while  the  young  stu- 
dent,  from  ignorance  of  the  details  of  history,  or  a  too  slight 
acquamtance  with  them,  may  not  be  in  a  condition  to  under- 
stand, much  less  to  judge  for  himself  of  the  force  and  justness 
of,  the  general  views  presented  to  him, — at  all  events,  is  ex- 
Dosed  to  the  danger  of  getting  the  habit  of  too  easily  taking 
.•pon  trust,  of  acquiescence  without  insight.  Against  all  these 
Jaugers  the  faithful  teacher  must  do  his  best  to  protect  the 
student.     The  most  proper  time  to  study  such  works  is  im 

•  Smyth's  Lectures  on  Modem  History,  vol.  1.  p.  6. — Am.  eo. 


FREFAUB. 


ItnibtL'Jly  when  a  thorough  historical  knowledge  of  the  facts 
upon  which  they  rest  is  acquired.  Some  one  such  work  may 
however,  under  the  guidance  of  a  competent  teacher,  bo  road 
with  benefit  by  tlie  young  student.  Even  if  there  be  some 
things  which  he  cannot  adequately  appreciate  till  he  shal 
have  gained  a  more  minute  knowledge  of  the  historical  de- 
tails ;  even  if  there  be  some  things  which  for  the  ptcsent  he 
mist  leave  unsettled  or  take  upon  trust, — he  will  still  gain  the 
advantage  of  having  his  attention  directed  to  the  great  prob- 
lems which  history  presents  for  solution  ;  he  will  form  an 
iflea  of  what  is  meant  by  the  most  general  spirit  of  history; 
he  will  have  learned  that  the  mere  external  events  of  history 
are  worthy  of  record  only  as  significant  of  the  moral  spirit  of 
humanity  ;  and  he  will  be  guided  in  his  future  study  of  the 
facts  and  details  of  special  histories  by  a  more  determinate 
aim,  and  a  more  enlightened  interest. 

At  the  same  time  it  is  extremely  desirable  that  the  student 
should  in  the  course  of  his  elementary  education  be  led  tc 
accomplish  thoroughly  some  portion,  however  small,  of  the 
great  task  of  the  historical  scholar ;  that  some  epoch,  or  por 
tion  of  an  epoch,  some  interesting  and  important  event,  at 
(east,  forming  a  sort  of  historical  whole,  should  be  selected 
and  miniteiy  studied,  till  he  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  all  its 
details,  and  perfectly  comprehends  the  coimexion,  meaning, 
and  consequences,  of  all  the  facts.  This  should  be  done  foi 
the  purpose  of  teaching  him  how  to  investigate  and  comparej 
combine  and  reflect  for  himself 

In  the  impossibility,  then,  of  communicating  a  thorougb 
krowledge  of  history  during  the  usual  course  of  public  in 
struction  tf/us  much,  it  is  conceived,  should  be  attempted- - 
lo  add  to  the  study  of  some  judicious  compend  of  ur.iversai 
nistory,  that  of  some  good  specimen  of  philosophical  gene- 
ralization of  historical  facts,  and  the  thorough  investigatioip 
of  some  sn<all  portion  of  special  history 

I'he  piesent  work  by  M.  Guizof  may  be  recommended  a8 


10  PREFACE. 

an  excellent  specimen  of  the  sort  of  books  which  may  aiJ 
the  student  in  forming  the  habii  of  reflecting  upon  the  fuctsj 
of  history,  and  in  awakenir.g  and  directing  an  intelligent  in- 
tereet  in  the  study  of  those  facts  Its  generalizations,  it  is 
Irue,  are  often  extremely  rapid,  and  presume  a  vast  amount 
of  historical  knowledge  ;  but  with  the  guidance  of  a  compe 
len.  teacher,  the  diligent  student  may  supply  for  himself  the 
Q«edful  information  ;  while  the  clearness  and  liveliness  of  the 
Style  render  it  an  attractive  work,  and  the  general  jusiness 
of  its  thought,  the  moderation  and  oandor  of  its  spirit,  make 
it  for  the  mosi  part  a  safe  and  salutary  work. 

In  the  occasional  notes  added  to  this  edition — and  which 
•iro  referred  to  by  Mumerals — the  editor  has  had  no  regular 
plan  of  elucidating  the  work.  He  has  sometimes  made  a 
critical  or  qualifying  remark  simply  because  it  coulu  be  done 
in  a  short  space,  and  at  other  times  has  omitted  to  say  any 
thing,  because  he  would  otherwise  have  been  led  into  too 
iixiended  a  disquisition.  So,  likewise,  in  some  places  he  has 
ijiven  historical  or  chronological  statements  of  facts  where  ho 
thought  he  could  do  so  to  any  good  purpose  within  a  mode- 
rate compass,  and  in  other  places,  whicli  might  seem  equally 
or  more  to  require  similar  illustration,  he  has  added  nothing, 
because  he  could  not  save  the  student  the  trouble  of  looking 
elsewhere  without  increasing  too  much  the  size  of  the  volume. 
In  short,  they  are  what  they  are — here  and  there  a  note ;  and 
the  editor  would  fain  hope  that  they  will  not  detract  (rom  the 
value  of  the  work  in  the  view  of  any  readers,  and  that  UJ 
some  they  may  be  of  use.  C    S   H. 

University  or  New- York. 
June,  1642 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF   CONTENTS 


LECTURE  I 


CIVILIZATION 

FAGB. 

Ob)»rt  t    the  course 15 

Hid'^ry  <     European  civilization 16 

P.^rt  take  .  in  it  l)y  France 16 

Civili7ati.in  may  lio  recounted 17 

Pornid  till!  niiiNl  gnnoral  and  intorcnting 

factor  history 17 

Popular  and  usual  meaning  of  the  word 

civili/ation 20 

Civilizatjcm  consists  of  t.vo  principal 
facts  : — 1st.  the  progress  of  socie- 
ty ;  2d.  The  progiess  of  indivi- 
duals    25 

Proofs  of  this  assertion 26 


IN    QENBRAL. 

That  tlicse  two  facts  are  necesi.Aruj 
connected  to  one  another,  and 
sooner  or  later  produce  one  an- 
otl)cr ^■ 

Tlio  entire  destiny  of  nmn  not  con- 
tained In  Ills  present  or  social  con- 
dition      30 

Two  ways  of  considering  and  writing 

the  history  of  civilization 31 

A    few    words   upon   the   plan  of  this 

course 3H 

Of  the  actual  state  of  opinion,  and  of 
the  future,  as  regards  civilization    33 


LECTURE  IL 

or  F.UHOPEAN  CIVILIZATION  ; — IN  PARTICULAB  ITS  DISTINGUISHED  CHARACTERISTICS 
— ITS    SUPERIORITY— ITS    ELEMENTS. 


Object  of  the  lectare 35 

Unity  of  ancient  civilization 36 

Variety  of  modern  civilization 37 

Sui>nriority  of  the  latter ,  39 

State  of  Europe  at  the  Fall  of  the  Ro- 
man  Empire .,  41 

Preponderance  of  cities 41 

Attempts  at  political  reform  made  by 

the  emperors 45 

R*»cripts   of    Honorius    and   Theodo- 

Kius  II 45 

Power  in  the  name  of  empire 48 


The  Christian  Church 48 

The  various  states  in  which  it  had 

existed  down  to  the  fifth  century.     50 
The    clergy  possessed  of  municipal 

ofTices 53 

Good  and  evil  influenceof  the  .nurch    54 

The    Barbarians 55 

They    introduce    into    the    modem 
world  the   sentiments  of  pcrsontd 

Independence  and  loyalty.. 57 

Sketch  of  the  various  elements  of  civi- 
lization at  the  beginning  of  tha 
fifth  century M 


LECTURE  in. 

It   POLITICAL    LEOITIMACT — CO-EZISTBNCB   OF   ALL    THE    8TSTEMS   OF  OOVBRNUBIIt 
IN    THE    FIFTH    CENTUBT — ATTEMPTS    TO    RB-OROANIIE    SOCIETY. 


Ml  the  variou*  systems  of  civilization 
lay  claim  to  l''^itimarT 

Explanation  of  political  legitimacy. . . . 

Co-exisleiice  of  all  the  various  iyi- 
cems  of  government  in  the  fijfth 
century 

iurtability  of  the  i  ate  of  peraons, 
estates,  domains,  and  instita- 
t>.ons 

Two  causes— one  material,  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  invasions 

•eiond  moral,  the  sentiment  of  ego- 
tist individualism,  peculiar  to  the 
lurbariani 


66 


The  elementary  principles  of  civiLzi^ 
tion  have  been, 

1.  The  want  of  order H 

2    Remembrances  of  the  ex jCk..  .,  Tt 

3.  The  Christian  Church 34 

4.  The  barbarians ,  79 

Attempts  at  organization •  7S 

1.  By  the  barbarians 75 

8.  Bytheci'.ies 76 

3.  By  the  church  of  Spain 77 

4.  By  Charlemagne— Alfred 7tl 

The  German  aud  Saracen  invasion  ar 

rested 80 

Tlie  feuda'  rratem  begins 81 


n 


CONTENTd. 


LECTURE  IV. 


THE    FEUDAL   SYSTEM 


PAQB. 

Mecesjary  alliance  of  *acts  and  theo- 
ries   82 

Preponderance  of  country  life 87 

Orguiiizalion   uf    a.    little    feudal    bo- 

ciety 88 

iiJluciii;e  uf  feudalism  upon  the  dispo- 
sition of  a  proprietor  of  a  fief.. . ...  89 

Upon  tlie  spirit  of  family 89 

Hatred  of  the  people  for  the  .tudal  sys- 
tem   93 

Pnests  could  do  but  little  foi  the  serfs.  93 


PAGE. 

Impossibility  of  regula'  i  rgiJiiutiot.  i/ 

the  feudal  system »     !>1 

1st.  No  great  authority UG 

2d.  No  public  power '/! 

3d.  DilTiculties  of  the  ftderative  tyi^ 

tern 3« 

Right  of    resistance    inherent   iu   the 

feuda'.  system W 

Influence  of  feudalism  good  for  the  de- 
velopment of  individual  man 100 

Bad  fur  social  order 101 


LECTURE  V. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    CHURCH 


Rf  liglon  a  principle  nf  association. .  • .  104 
f  jice  not  essei  "ial  to  govenimont. ...  110 
Conditions  neoessarj  to  th«  legitimacy 

of  a  government 113 

I.  Power  in  the  hands  of  the  most 

worthy 112 

3.  Kespei;t    lor  tne  liberties  of  the 

governed 112 

The  church   being  a  corporation   and 
nut  a  caste,  answered  to  the  first 

of  these  conditicr.s .,   113 

Vgi  ,ous  modes  of  nomination  and  elec- 
tion in  the  church 114 


It  failed  in  the  second  condition  by  tho 
unlawful  extension  of  the  principle 
of  authority IH 

And  by  its  abusive  employment  of 
force 117 

Activity  and  liberty  of  mind  within  the 

church 119 

Connexion  of  the  church  with  prin- 
ces    121 

Principle  uf  the  independence  of  spirit- 
ual   authority 123 

Claims  of  the  church  to  dominion  over 
temporal  powers 'Ti 


LECTURE  \l. 


THE   CHRISTIAN    CHUBCH 


Se|<iraiion  uf  the  garcming  and  the 

governed  in  the  church 126 

Indirect  influence  of  the  laity  upon  the 

church 129 

The   clerical   body  cecruited  froa    all 

ranks  of  society 130 

Influence  uf  the  church  ou  public  order 

and  legislation 132 

Its  system  of  penitt.nce 135 

The  progress  of  tho  human  mind  pure* 

ly   theological 136 

The  church  ranges  itself  ou  the  tide  of 

authority 138 

Not  astonishing — the  object  of  religion 

is  to  regulate  human  liberty 138 

Vanouf  states  of  the  church  from  tbb 


fifth  to  the  twelfth  century 14> 

1.  I'he  imperial  church Ill 

2.  The  barbarian  church— duveU'p- 
ment  of  the  principle  of  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  two  powers 243 

The  monastic  orders 143 

3.  The  feudal  church 144 

Attempts  at  organization I4S 

Want  of   reform I4S 

Gregory   VU 148 

4.  The  theucratjc  church 14? 

Revival  of  free  inquiry 147 

Abelard,  &.C • . . .  147 

Agitation  in   the  municipalities..  Hi 
No  connexion  between  these  two 

facta 14S 


\.ECTURE  VII. 


BISE   OV   FREE    CITIEa. 


A  sketch  of  the  diflferent  itates  of 
cities  in  the  twelfth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries 150 

Twofold  question  : — 

tl    Affranci.isemenl  of  cities 154 

State  of  cities  fron.  the  flftii  to  thr 

lentil  centuries 55 

Their  decline  and  reviviil 15S 

-    Innurrection  of  the  cimimunt 150 

.  Cbaiten    , 16) 


Social  and  moral  e  Beets  of  the  af 

franchisement  of  the  cities. .  . .  I*** 
<M.    Of   the    interici    government    uf 

cities If** 

Assemblies  of  the  people... 1"^ 

Magistialoi 1"' 

Ilign  and  low  burghers 16* 

U'vcri'ty  in  the  Mate  of  tho  com 

monk  ir  variou.-"  rv'nntrea 17C 


CONTENTS. 


IS 


LECTURE  VIII 
■RBT,;n  or  buropban  civilt/.ation— the  crusades 


PACE. 

)cu»  nil  view  >{  the  civilization  of  Eu- 
rope  > 173 

t«  (listinctife  and  fundamental  charac- 
ter    175 

When  this  character  began  to  hppsHr. .   175 
•:*t8  of  Europe  from  the  twelfth  to 

the  sixteenth  century 175 


P/OB 

The  Crusades  : 

Tncir  cliaranter , ITJ 

Their  moral  and  social  causes 179 

These  cniisps  cease  at  the  end  of  the 

thirteenth   century I8J 

Effects  of  the  crusades  upon  civiJi- 

zation 199 


LECTURE  IX 


MONARCHY. 


Important  part  of  monarchy  in  the  his- 
tory of  Europe 193 

In  the  history  of  the  world 194 

Pnin  ransoa  of  its  Importance 1U5 

Twofold   point  of   view   under  which 

monarchy  should  be  considered..   195 
l»f.   Its  peculiar  and  permanent  char- 
acter     195 

It  is  the  personification  of  legitimate 
sovereignty 196 


Within  what  limits 196 

2d.  Its   flexibility  and   diversity 200 

The  Europein  monarchy  seems  the 
result   of   the   various   species   of 

monarchy 200 

Of  tho  barbarian  monarchy 201 

Of  the  imperial  monarchy 203 

Of  the  feudal  monarchy 200 

Of  modern  monarchy,  properly  so  call- 
ed, and  of  its  true  -^aracter 20fl 


LECTURE  X. 


ATTEMPTS   AT   OBO ANIZATION. 


ittempts  to  reconcile  the  various  so- 
cial elements  of  modem  Europe, 
so  as  to  make  them  live  and  act 
in  common— to  form  one  society 
under  one  same  central  power. . . .  2J0 
9t.  Attempt  at  theocratic  organiza- 
tion   213 

Why  It    failed 213 

Four  principal  obstacles 213 

Faults  of  Gregory  VII 210 

Re-action  against   the  dominion   of 

the  church 217 

On  the  part  cif  the  people 217 

On  the  part  of  the  sovcreigTis 217 

M.  Attempts  at   republican  organiza- 
•.ion 218 


Italian  republics — then    vices 220 

Cities  of  the  south  of  France 823 

Crusade  against  the  Albigenses.. ..  223 

The  Swiss  confederacy 223 

Free   cities   of    Flanders    and   the 

Rhine ; 229 

Hanseatic  League 333 

Struggle  betwcfjn  the  feudal  nobility 

and  the  cities 223 

3d.  Attempts  at  mixed  organization. . .  224 

The  States-general  of  France 224 

The  Cortes  of  Spain  and  Portugal. .  225 

The  Parliament  of  England 22« 

Bad  success  of  all  these  attempts 828 

Causes  of  their  failure 228 

General  tendency  of  Europe 338 


LECTURE  XL 

CEN1BALIZATI0N,   PIPL0MA:T,    ETC. 


Particular  characr.er    >f  the   fifteenth 

century 229 

Progressive  centralizations  of  nations 

and  governments 230 

(it.  Of  France 231 

Formation  of  the   national  spirit   of 

France 232 

Formation  of  tho  French  territory..  232 
I  ouis  XI.,  manner  of  governing. .  . .  234 

11.  Ol   Spain 235 

W.  Of  Germany 236 

Ith    01  England 2.36 

Hh    Of  Italy 237 

Rijo  if  the  exterior  relaticns  of  states 


and  of  diplomacy 239 

Agitation  of  religious  opinions 24< 

Attempt  at  aristocratic  reform  in  the 

church 211 

Councils  of  Constance  and  Bale 241 

Attempt  at  popular  reform 243 

John  IIuss 243 

Revival  of  ancient  literature 244 

Admiration  for  antiquity 243 

Classic  school 245 

General  activity 24f 

Voyages,  travels,  inventions   &c 24 

Cor:  .xision 2^ 


14 


CONTENTS 


LECTURE  Xn. 

THE    REFOBMATIOIf. 


PiQB. 

Difficulty  ol  unravelling  geueral   facts 

111  modem  history 248 

Picture  of  Europe  iu  the  fixteenth 
cen'ury 249 

D  wger  of  precipitate  generalizations. .  253 

/irious  causes  ass.gned  for  the  refor- 
mation    254 

(ti  predomiu;inl  cl.aractenstic — the  in- 
(utrection    of    'iie    nunian    iiiiacl 


FAafi 

against  absolute  power  ip  lotellec- 

tuul  affairs 25! 

Proofs  of  this  fact 2S1 

P''ogres8  uf  the  reformation  in  different 

countries 254 

^yeak  side  of  tke  reformatina 260 

Tha  Jesuits 269 

Analogy   between   the    rero.tilions   if 

civil  and  roligiout  society liA 


LECTURE  XMI. 

THB    ENGLISH    BKVOLUTION. 


General  character  of  the  English  revo- 
lution   269 

Its  principal  rauses 270 

Rather  politicirf  than  religious 27 1 

Three   sreat    paities   succeed  one  an- 
other in  its  i.rogrejs 275 

Ipt.     The     pu"'"     monarchy     reform 

party 275 

td.  The  constitutiona' reform  party. .,  276 


3d.  The  republ..,an  party 278 

They  all  fail 278 

Cnmwell 279 

Restoration  of  the   Stuarts 2AI 

The  le{;itimute  administration 282 

Profligate  administrations 2H3 

National  administration 2S3 

Rev(j|iition  of  1688  in  England  and  Eu- 
rope    285 


LECTURE  XIV 

THB    FRENCH    BEVOLUTION. 


liiHerences  and  resemblances  in  the 
progress  of  civilization  in  England 
and  on  the  continent 287 

Pr-po'iderance  of  France  in  Europe  in 
the  seventeenlti  and  eighteenth 
centuries 891 

ft  .he  sevenlet'iitb  by  the  French 
government "^ 

Cn  the  eighteenth  by'he  count  ▼  ittelf.  S93     Conclaeicn 

(ouis  XV »3 

TAHtE  OP  C^HiBMPoaABV  &ovnnBioe>>, 


Of  his  wars 2'J4 

Of  his  diplomacy 295 

Of  his  administration 298 

Of  his  legislation 299 

Canaes  of  its  prompt  ilecline 306 

France  in  t.ie  eighteenth  century 3fH 

Ebseiitial  characteristic!  of  the  philu 

Bophical  revolution 30!) 

905 


?fl7 


GENERAL 

HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION 

m  MODERN  EUROPE, 

fROM  THB  FALL  OP  THE  ROMAN  EMP'RE  TO  THE  PRBNOB 
REVOLUTION. 


LECTURE  I. 

CIVILIZATION    IN    GENERAL. 

Being  called  upon  to  give  a  course  of  lectures,  and  havii\g 
considered  what  subject  would  be  most  agreeable  and  con- 
venient to  fill  up  the  short  space  allowed  us  from  now  to  the 
close  of  the  year,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  a  general  sketch 
of  the  History  of  Modern  Europe,  considered  more  especial- 
ly with  regard  to  the  progress  of  civilization — that  a  general 
survey  of  the  history  of  European  civilization,  of  its  origin, 
its  progress,  its  end,  its  character,  would  be  the  most  profitable 
H\i\iject  upon  which  I  could  engage  your  attention. 

I  say  European  nvilization,  because  there  is  evidently  so 
BtrikinjT  a  uniformity  {unite)  in  the  civilization  of  the  different 
states  of  Europe,  as  fullj  lo  warrant  this  appellation.  Civili- 
zation has  flowed  to  them  all  from  sources  so  much  alike — il 
is  so  connected  in  them  all,  notwithstanding  the  great  differ- 
ences of  time,  of  place,  and  circumstances,  by  the  same  prin- 
ciples, and  it  so  tends  in  them  all  to  bring  about  the  same  re- 
sults, that  no  one  will  doubt  the  fact  of  there  being  a  civiliza- 
tion essentially  European. 

At  the  same  time  it  must  be  observed  that  this  civilizatior 
cannot  be  found  in — its  history  cannot  be  collected  from,  the 
history  of  any  single  state  of  Europe.  However  similar  in 
ittj  general  appearance  thrcughout  the  whole,  its  varietv  is  noi 


16 


OENE-IAL    HISTORY    OF    THB 


less  remarkable,  ncir  has  it  ever  yet  developed  itself  completely 
.n  any  particular  country.  Its  characteristic  features  arc 
widely  spread,  and  w^e  shall  be  obliged  to  seek,  as  occasior 
may  require  in  England,  in  France,  in  Germany,  ir  Spain, 
or   he  elements  of  its  history. 

The  situation  in  which  we  are  pluced,  as  Frenchman, 
ftiTords  us  a  great  advantage  for  entering  upon  the  study  of 
European  civilization  ;  for,  without  intending  to  flaUcr  the 
country  to  which  I  am  bound  by  so  many  ties,  I  cannot  but 
regard  France  as  the  centre,  as  the  focus,  of  the  civilization 
of  Europe.  It  would  be  going  too  far  to  say  that  she  has  al 
ways  been,  upon  every  occasion,  in  advance  of  other  nations, 
Italy,  at  various  epocns,  has  outstripped  her  in  the  arts ;  Eng- 
land,  as  regards  political  institutions,  is  by  far  before  her ; 
and,  perhaps,  at  certain  moments,  we  may  find  other  nations 
of  Europe  superior  to  her  in  various  particulars  :  but  it  must 
still  be  allowed,  that  whenever  France  has  set  forward  in  the 
career  of  civilization,  she  has  sprung  forth  with  new  vigor, 
and  has  soon  come  up  with,  or  passed  by,  all  her  rivals. 

Not  only  is  this  the  case,  but  those  ideas,  those  institutioiia 
which  promote  civilization,  but  whose  birth  must  be  referred 
to  other  countries,  have,  before  they  could  become  general,  oi 
produce  fruit, — before  they  could  be  transplanted  to  othoi 
lands,  or  benefit  the  common  stock  of  European  civilization, 
been  obliged  to  undergo  in  France  a  new  preparation  :  it  is 
from  France,  as  from  a  second  country  more  rich  and  fertile, 
that  they  have  started  forth  to  make  the  conquest  of  Europe. 
There  is  noi  a  single  great  idea,  not  a  single  great  principle 
of  civilization,  which,  in  order  to  become  universally  spread, 
has  not  first  passed  through  France. 

There  is,  indeed,  in  the  genius  of  the  French,  something  of 
a  sociableness,  of  a  sympathy, — something  which  spreads 
Itself  with  more  facility  and  energy,  than  in  the  genius  of  any 
other  people  :  it  may  be  in  the  language,  or  the  particular  turn 
of  mind  of  the  French  nation ;  it  may  bo  in  their  mannerf^, 
or  that  their  ideas,  being  more  popular,  present  themselves 
more  clearly  to  the  masses,  penetrate  among  them  with  great- 
er ease  ;  but,  in  a  word,  clearness,  sociability,  sympathy,  are 
ihe  particular  characteristics  of  France,  of  its  civilization  ; 
uud  these  qualities  render  it  eminently  qualified  to  march  al 
the  head  of  Ejropean  civilization. 

In  studying,  vhen,  the  history  of  this  great  fact,  it  is  neither 
an  ai  biliary  choice,  nor  coi.vention.  that  leads  up  to  makt 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE. 


19 


France  the  central  point  from  which  we  shall  study  it ;  but  il 
8  because  we  feel  that  in  so  doing,  we  in  a  manner  place  our- 
selves in  the  very  heart  of  civilization  itself — in  the  heart  of 
♦he  very  fact  which  we  desire  to  investigate. 

I  say  fact,  and  I  say  it  advisedly :  civilization  is.  just  as 
much  a  fact  as  any  other — it  is  a  fact  which  like  any  olhei 
may  be  studied,  described,  and  have  its  history  recounted. 

It  has  iicen  the  custom  for  some  time  past,  and  very  proper- 
ly, to  talk  of  the  necessity  of  confining  history  to  facts ;  no- 
thing can  be  more  just ;  but  it  would  be  almost  absur  \  to  sup- 
pose that  there  are  no  facts  but  such  as  are  matei.al  atid 
visible  :  there  are  moral,  hidden  facts,  which  are  no  less  real 
than  balllos,  wars,  and  the  public  acts  of  government.  Besidtb 
these  individual  facts,  each  of  which  has  its  proper  name, 
there  are  others  of  a  general  nature,  without  a  name,  of  which 
it  is  impossible  to  say  that  they  happened  in  such  a  year,  oi 
on  such  a  day,  and  which  it  is  impossible  to  confine  within 
any  precise  limits,  but  which  are  yet  just  as  much  facts  as  the 
battles  and  public  acts  of  which  we  have  spoken. 

That  very  portion,  indeed,  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
hear  called  the  philosophy  of  history — which  consists  in 
showing  the  relation  of  events  with  each  other — the  chain 
which  connects  them — the  causes  and  effects  of  events — this 
is  history  just  as  much  as  the  description  of  battles,  and  all 
the  other  exterior  events  which  it  recounts.  Facts  of  this  kind 
are  undoubtedly  more  difficult  to  unravel ;  the  historian  is  mor'>. 
liable  to  deceive  himself  respecting  them  ;  it  requires  more 
skill  to  place  them  distinctly  before  the  reader ;  but  this  diffi- 
culty does  not  alter  their  nature  ;  they  still  continue  not  a  whit 
the  less,  for  all  this,  to  form  an  essential  part  of  history. 

Civilization  is  just  one  of  these  kind  of  facts  ;  it  is  so  gene 
ral  in  its  natuio  that  it  can  scarcely  be  seized  ;  so  complicated 
that  it  can  scarcely  be  unravelled  ;  so  hidden  as  scarcely  to 
be  discernible.  The  difficulty  of  describing  it,  of  recounting 
\u  history,  is  apparent  and  acknowledged ;  but  its  existence 
its  worthiness  to  be  described  and  to  be  recounted,  is  not  less 
certain  and  manifest.  Then,  respecting  civilization,,  what  a 
number  of  problems  remain  to  be  solved !  It  may  be  asked, 
't  is  even  now  disputed,  whether  civilization  be  a  good  or  an 
evil  ?  One  party  decries  it  as  teeming  with  mischief  to  man, 
ubile  another  lauds  it  as  the  means  63'  which  he  will  attair 


18  GENERAL    HISTOAV    01     THB 

his  higliest  dignity  and  excellence.^  Again,  it  is  asked 
whether  this  fact  is  universal — whether  there  is  a  general 
civilization  of  the  whole  human  race — a  course  for  humanity 
to  rjn — a  destiny  for  it  to  accomplish;  whether  nations  have 
not  transmitted  from  age  to  age  something  to  their  successors 
which  is  never  lost,  but  which  grows  and  continues  as  a  coni' 
nion  stock,  and  will  thus  be  carried  on  to  the  end  of  all  things 
For  my  part,  I  feel  assured  that  human  nature  has  such  a  des 
tiny ;  that  a  general  civilization  pervades  the  human  race  ; 
Jiat  at  every  epoch  it  augments  ;  and  that  there,  consequently, 


•  This  dispute  turns  upon  the  greater  or  less  extension  given  to 
the  terra. 

Uivilizatioa  may  be  taken  to  signify  merely  the  multiplication  ol 
artificial  wants,  and  of  the  means  and  refinements  of  physical  en- 
joyment. 

It  may  also  be  taken  to  imply  both  a  state  of  physical  weU  being 
and  a  state  of  superior  intellectual  and  moral  culture. 

It  is  only  in  the  former  sense  that  it  can  be  alleged  that  civiliza- 
tion is  an  evil. 

Civilization  is  properly  a  relative  term.  It  refers  to  a  certain 
state  of  mankind  as  distinguished  from  barbarism. 

Man  is  formed  for  society.  Isolated  and  solitary,  his  reason 
would  remain  perfectly  undeveloped.  Against  the  total  defeat  of 
his  destination  for  rational  development  God  has  provided  by  the 
domestic  relations.  Yet  without  a  further  extension  of  the  social 
ties,  man  would  still  remain  comparatively  rude  and  uncultivated 
— never  emergmg  from  barbarism.  In  proportion  as  the  social  re- 
lations are  extended,  regulated  and  perfected,  man  is  softened.- 
omeliorated,  cultivated.  To  this  improvement  various  social  con- 
ditions combine;  but  as  the  political  organization  of  society — the 
STATE — is  that  which  first  gives  security  and  permanence  to  all  the 
others,  it  holds  the  most  important  place.  Hence  it  is  from  the 
political  organization  of  society,  from  the  establishment  of  the 
BTATE,  (in  Latin  civitas,)  that  the  word  civilization  is  taken. 

Civilization,  therefore,  in  its  most  general  idea,  is  an  improved 
condition  of  man  resulting  from  the  establishment  of  social  order 
ji  place  of  the  individual  independence  and  lawlessness  of  the 
savage  or  barbarous  life.  It  may  exist  in  various  degrees;  it  is 
WJsceptible  of  continual  progress:  and  hence  the  history  of  civiliia- 
uon  is  the  liistory  of  the  progress  of  tiie  human  race  towards  reali.?- 
uig  the  idea  of  humanity,  through  the  extension  and  perfection  of 
the  social  relations,  and  as  afl'ected,  advanced  or  retarded,  by  the 
character  cf  the  various  political  and  civil  institutions  which  hnvu 
CKiRted. 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN     EOllUPE.  19 

!s  a  uriivcrsal  history  of  civilization  to  be  written.     Nor  havt! 
\  any  hesitation  in  assorting  that  this  history  is  the  most  lujblo, 

he  most  interesting  of  any,  and  that  it  comprehends  every 
other. 

Is  it  not  indeed  clear  that  civilization  is  the  grf^at  fact  iv 
which  all  others  merge  ;  in  which  they  all  end,  in  which  they 
ure  all  condensed,  in  which  all  others  find  their  importance  ' 
Take  all  the  facts  of  wliich  the  history  of  a  nation  is  com- 
|>os3d,  all  the  facts  which  we  are  accustomed  to  consider  ap 

he  elements  of  its  existence — take  its  institutions,  its  com 
nierce,  its  industry,  its  wars,  the  various  details  of  its  govern 
ment ;  and  if  you  would  form  some  idea  of  them  as  a  whole, 
if  you  would  see  their  various  bearings  on  each  oilier,  if  you 
would  appreciate  their  value,  if  you  would  pass  a  judgment 
upon  them,  what  is  it  you  desire  to  know  ?  Why,  what  they 
have  done  to  forward  the  progress  of  civilization — wliat  part 
they  have  acted  in  tliis  great  drama, — what  influence  they  havr 
exercised  in  aiding  its  advance.  It  is  not  only  Iiy  tliis  that 
we  form  a  general  opinion  of  these  facts,  but  it  is  by  this  stand- 
ard that  we  try  them,  tliat  we  estimate  their  true  value. 
These  are,  as  it  were,  the  rivers  of  whom  we  ask  how  much 
water  they  have  carried  to  the  ocean.  Civilization  is,  as  it 
wore,  the  grand  emporium  of  a  people,  in  which  all  its  wealth 
— all  the  elements  of  its  'ife — al'  the  powers  of  its  existence 
are  stored  up.  It  is  so  true  ihat  we  judge  of  minor  facts  ac- 
cordingly as  they  aflect  tlii.s  greater  one,  that  even  some  which 
are  naturally  detested  and  hated,  which  prove  a  heavy  ca- 
lamity to  the  nation  upon  which  they  fall — say,  for  instance, 
despotism,  anarchy,  and  so  forth, — even  these  are  partly  for- 
given, their  evil  nature  is  partly  overlooked,  if  they  have  aid 
ed  in  any  considerable  degree  the  march  of  civilization. 
Wherever  the  progress  of  this  principle  is  visible,  together 
with  the  facts  which  have  urged  it  forward,  we  are  tempted  to 
forget  the  price  it  has  cost — we  overlook  the  dearness  of  the 
purchase. 

Again,  there  are  certain  facts  which,  properly  speaking,  can 
not  be  called  social — individual  facts  which  rather  concern  the 
human  intellect  than  public  life  :  such  are  religious  doctrines, 
philosophical  opinions,  literature,  the  sciences  and  arts.  All 
those  seem  to  ofler  themselves  to  individual  man  for  hia 
improvement,  instruction,  or  amusement ;  and  to  be  directed 
ratlier  to  his  intellecirual  melioration  and  pleasure,  than  to  his 
Focial  condition.  Yet  still,  how  cAen  do  these  facts  com«  be- 
2 


20  GENERAL    HISTORY    OK    THB 

fore  us — how  often  are  we  compelled  to  consider  lliem  as  in 
fluencing  civilization !  In  all  times,  in  all  countries,  it  lias 
neen  the  boast  of  religion,  that  it  has  civilized  the  people 
among  whom  it  has  dwelt.  liiterature,  the  arts,  and  sciences, 
have  put  in  their  claim  for  a  share  of  this  glory  ;  and  mankind 
has  ocen  ready  to  laud  and  honor  them  whenever  it  has  felt 
that  this  praise  was  fairly  their  due.  In  the  same  manner, 
facts  the  most  important — facts  of  themselves,  and  indepen- 
dently of  their  exterior  consequences,  the  most  suldime  in 
their  nature,  have  increased  in  importance,  have  reached  a 
higher  degree  of  sublimity,  by  their  connexion  wiih  civiliza 
lion.  Such  is  the  worth  of  this  great  principle,  that  it  gives 
a  value  to  all  it  touches.  Not  only  so.  but  there  are  even 
cases,  in  which  the  facts  of  which  we  have  spoken,  in  which 
philosophy,  literature,  the  sciences,  and  the  arts,  are  especial- 
ly judged,  and  condemned  or  applauded,  according  lo  iheii 
intiuence  upon  civilization. 


Before,  however,  we  proceed  to  the  history  of  this  fact,  so 
important,  so  extensive,  so  precious,  and  which  seems,  as  il 
were,  to  imbody  the  entire  life  of  nations,  let  us  consider 
it  for  a  moment  in  itself,  and  endeavor  to  discover  what  il 
really  is. 

I  shall  be  careful  here  not  to  fall  into  pure  philosophy  ;  1 
shall  not  lay  down  a  certain  rational  principle,  and  tlien,  by 
deduction,  show  the  nilure  of  civilization  as  a  consequence 
there  would  be  too  many  chances  of  error  in  pursuing  this 
method.  Still,  without  this,  we  shall  be  able  to  find  a  fact  to 
establish  and  to  describe. 

For  a  long  time  past,  and  in  many  countries,  the  word  ">• 
ilizution  has  been  in  use;  ideas  more  or  less  clear,  awl  of 
wider  or  more  contracted  signification,  have  been  attached  to 
it ;  still  il  has  boon  constantly  employed  and  generally  under 
Blood.  Now,  it  is  the  popular,  common  signiiicution  of  ihia 
word  that  we  must  investigate.  In  the  usual,  general  accep- 
tation of  terms,  there  will  nearly  always  be  found  more  truth 
han  in  the  seemingly  more  precise  and  rigorous  dotinitiona 
of  science.  Il  is  common  sense  which  gives  to  words  theii 
oopular  signification,  and  common  sense  is  the  genius  of  hu- 
manity. The  popular  sipviification  of  a  word  is  formetl  by  do- 
nees and  whilt  the  facts  il  represents  are  themselvts  ])resent 
As  often  as  a  lact  comes  before  us  which  seems  to  answer  t( 


CIVILFZATION    OF     MOI/ERN     tUROPE. 


21 


he  signification  of  a  known  term,  this  term  is  naturally  ^)• 
plied  to  it,  its  signification  gradually  extending  and  enlarging 
Itself,  so  that  at  last  the  various  facts  and  ideas  which,  from 
the  nature  of  things,  ought  to  be  brought  together  and  imbo- 
died  in  this  term,  will  be  found  collected  and  imbodied  in  i( 
When,  on  the  contrary,  the  signification  of  a  word  is  deter 
mined  by  science,  it  is  usually  done  by  one  or  a  very  few  indi 
viduals,  who,  at  the  time,  are  u  ider  the  influence  of  some 
particular  fact  which  has  taken  possession  of  their  imagina 
tion.  Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  scientific  definitions  are,  in 
general,  much  narrower,  and,  on  that  very  account,  much  less 
correct,  than  the  popular  significations  given  to  words.  So, 
in  'he  investigation  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  civilization  as 
a  fact — by  seeking  out  all  the  ideas  it  comprises,  according 
to  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  we  shall  arrive  much  near- 
er to  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  itself,  by  than  attempting  lo  give 
our  own  scientific  definition  of  it,  though  this  might  at  first 
appear  more  clear  and  precise. 


1  shall  commence  this  investigation  by  placing  before  you 
a  series  of  hyj)othescs.  I  shall  describe  society  in  various 
conditions,  and  shall  then  ask  if  the  state  in  which  I  so  de 
scribe  it  is,  in  the  general  opinion  of  mankind,  the  state  of  a 
peojile  advancing  in  civilization — if  it  answers  to  the  signifi- 
cation which  mankind  generally  attaches  to  this  word. 

First,  imagine  a  people  whose  outward  circumstances  are 
easy  and  agreeable  ;  few  taxes,  few  hardships  ;  justice  is 
fairly  administered ;  in  a  word,  physical  existence,  taken  al- 
together, is  satisfactorily  and  happily  regulated.  But  with  all 
this  the  moral  and  intellectual  energies  of  this  people  are 
studiously  kept  in  a  state  of  torpor  and  inertness.  It  can 
hardly  be  called  oppression  ;  its  tendency  is  not  of  that  char- 
s  ;ter — it  is  rather  compression.  We  are  not  without  exam- 
ples of  this  state  of  society.  There  have  been  a  great  number 
of  little  aristocratic  republics,  in  which  the  people  have  been 
thus  treated  like  so  many  flocks  of  sheep,  carefully  tended, 
physically  happy,  but  without  the  least  intellectual  and  moral 
activity.  Is  this  civilization  ?  Do  we  recognise  here  a  peo- 
ple in  a  state  of  moral  and  social  advancement  ? 

Let  us  take  ai.other  hypothesis.  Let  us  imagine  a  people 
who&e  outward  circimistances  are  less  favorable  and  agreea- 
ble ;  still,  however,  supportable      As  a  sct-ofl^,  its  intellectua. 


22  aENEKAi.   hisTORy  of   tub 

and  moral  cravings  have  not  here  been  entirely  neglected.  A 
certain  range  has  been  allowed  them — some  few  pure  and  eleva- 
ted sentiments  have  been  here  distributed  ;  religious  and  moral 
notions  have  reached  a  certain  degree  of  improvement ;  bu* 
(he  greatest  care  has  been  taken  to  stifle  every  principle  Oi 
liberty.  The  moral  and  intellectual  wants  of  this  people  are 
pro-,  ided  for  in  the  way  that,  among  some  nations,  the  physical 
wants  have  been  provided  for  ;  a  certain  portion  of  truth  ia 
doled  out  to  each,  but  no  one  is  permitted  to  help  himself — 
o  seek  for  truth  on  his  own  account.  Immobility  is  tho 
character  of  its  mora',  life  ;  and  to  this  condition  are  fallen 
most  of  the  populations  of  Asia,  in  which  theocratic  govern 
nient  restrains  the  advance  of  man  :  such,  for  example,  is  the 
state  of  the  Hindoos.  I  again  put  the  same  question  as  be- 
fore— Is  this  a  people  among  whom  civilization  is  going  on  ^ 

1  will  change  entirely  the  nature  of  the  hypothesis ;  sup 
pose  a  people  among  whom  there  reigns  a  very  large  stretch 
of  personal  liberty,  but  among  whom  also  disorder  and  in- 
equality almost  everywhere  abound.  The  weak  are  oppress- 
<;d,  afllicted,  destroyed  ;  violence  is  the  ruling  character  of  the 
social  cond'tion.  Every  one  knows  that  such  has  been  the 
state  of  Europe.  Is  this  a  civilized  state  ?  It  may  whhout 
doubt  contain  germs  of  civilization  which  may  progressively 
shoot  up  ;  but  the  actual  state  of  things  which  prevails  in  this 
society  is  not,  we  may  rest  assured,  what  the  common  sense 
of  mankind  would  call  civilization. 

I  pass  on  to  a  fourth  and  last  hypothesis.  Every  indivi 
dual  here  eiijoys  the  widest  extent  of  liberty ;  inequality  is 
rare,  or,  at  least,  of  a  very  slight  character.  Every  one  does 
as  he  likes,  and  scarcely  differe  in  power  from  his  neighbor.'^ 
But  then  nere  scarcely  such  a  thing  is  known  as  a  general 
interest ;  here  exist  but  few  public  'deas  ;  hardly  any  public 
feeling;  but  little  society:  in  short,  the  life  and  faculties  o( 
individuals  are  put  forth  and  spent  in  an  isolated  state,  with 
but  little  regard  to  society,  and  with  scarcely  a  sentiment  of 
its  influence.  Men  here  exercise  no  influence  upon  one 
mother  ;  they  leave  no  traces  of  their  existence.  GeneraiioD 
af\<  r  generation  pass  away,  leaving  society  just  as  thoy  found 
il.  Such  is  the  condition  of  the  various  tribes  of  savages  ;  liber- 
ty and  equality  dwell  among  dicm,  but  no  touch  of  civilization. 

I  could  easily  nudtiply  these  hypotheses  ;  but  I  presume 
Uiat  I  hitve  s^ono  far  enough  to  show  what  is  the  popular  and 
Tihlural  eignification  of  the  word  civilization 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROP1!.  ^3 

It  [^  evident  tl  at  none  of  tlie  states  which  I  have  just  de- 
sciibed  will  correspond  witli  the  common  notion  of  niajikind 
respecting  tliis  term.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  first  idea  com 
prised  in  the  word  civilization  (and  this  may  be  gathered  frora 
the  \arious  examp Jes  which  I  have  placed  before  yon)  is  the 
Motion  of  progress,  of  development.  It  calls  up  within  us  th« 
notion  of  a  people  advancing,  of  a  people  in  a  coiirse  of  im 
provement  and  melioration. 

Now  what  is  this  progress  ?  Wha  is  this  development  % 
In  this  is  the  great  difliculty.  The  etymology  of  the  word 
seems  sufliciently  obvious — it  points  at  once  to  the  improve 
meiit  of  civil  life.  The  first  notion  which  strikes  us  in  pro- 
nouncing it  is  the  progress  of  society  ;  the  melioration  of  tho 
social  state  ;  the  carrying  to  higher  perfection  the  relations 
between  man  and  man.  It  awakens  within  us  at  once  the  no 
tion  of  an  increase  of  national  prosperity,  of  a  greater  activity 
and  better  organization  of  the  social  relations.  On  one  hand 
there  is  a  manifest  increase  in  the  power  and  well-being  of 
society  at  large  ;  and  on  the  other  a  more  equitable  distribu- 
tion of  this  power  and  this  well-being  among  the  individuals 
of  which  society  is  composed. 

But  the  word  civilization  has  a  more  extensive  signification 
;han  this,  which  seems  to  confine  it  to  the  mere  outward, 
physical  organization  of  society.  Now,  if  this  were  all,  the 
human  race  would  be  little  better  than  the  inhabitants  of  an 
ant-hill  or  bee-hive  ;  a  society  in  which  nothing  was  sought 
for  beyond  order  and  well-being — in  which  the  highest,  the 
sole  aim,  would  be  the  production  of  the  means  of  life,  and 
their  equitable  distribution. 
V  But  our  nature  at  once  rejects  this  definition  as  too  narrow 
It  tells  us  that  man  is  formed  for  a  higher  destiny  than  this 
That  this  is  not  the  full  development  of  his  character — that  civ- 
ilization comprehends  something  more  extensive,  something 
more  complex,  something  superior  to  the  perfection  of  socia. 
relations,  of  social  power  and  well-being. 

That  this  is  so,  we  have  not  merely  the  evidence  of  otu 
nature,  and  that  derived  from  the  signification  which  the  com- 
mon sense  of  maiddnd  has  attached  to  the  word  ;  but  we  have 
likewise  the  evidence  of  facts. 

No  one,  for  example,  will  deny  that  there  are  commm.ilieB 
in  which  (lie  social  state  of  man  is  better — in  which  the  means 
of  life  are  better  supplied,  are  n  ore  rapidly  produced,  are  bet- 
ttrt  distributed,  than  in  others,  wMch  yet  will  be  pron^unccJ 


24  nRNERAL    HISTORY    OF    THE 

by  tlie  unanimous  voice  of  mankind  to  be  superioi  in  poi'U  of 
civilization. 

Take  Rome,  for  example,  in  the  splendid  days  of  tlie  repub- 
lic, at  the  close  of  the  second  Punic  war  ;  the  moment  of  hex 
greateat  virtues,  when  she  was  raj)idly  advancing  to  the  era 
pire  of  the  world — when  her  social  condition  was  evidently 
improving.  Take  Rome  again  under  Augustus,  ai  ihe  coix- 
mencement  of  her  decline,  when,  to  say  the  least,  the  pro- 
gressive movement  of  society  halted,  when  bad  principles 
seemed  ready  to  prevail :  but  is  there  any  person  who  would 
not  say  that  Rome  was  more  civilized  under  Augustus  than 
in  the  days  of  Fabriciufj  or  Cincinnalus  1 

Let  us  look  further  :  let  us  luok  at  France  in  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries.  In  a  merely  social  point  of 
view,  as  respects  the  quantity  and  the  distribution  of  well- 
being  among  individiials,  France,  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  was  decidedly  inferior  to  several  of  tlic 
other  states  of  Europe  ;  to  Holland  aiul  England  in  particular 
Social  activity,  in  these  countries,  was  greater,  increased  more 
rapidly,  and  distributed  its  fruits  more  equitably  among  indivi- 
duals. Yet  consult  the  general  opinion  of  mankind,  and  i 
will  tell  you  that  France  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  was  the  most  civilized  country  of  Europe.  Europe 
has  not  hesitated  to  acknowledge  this  fact,  and  evidence  of  its 
truth  will  be  found  in  all  the  great  works  of  European  litera- 
ture. 

It  appears  evident,  then,  that  all  that  we  understand  by  this 
term  is  not  comprised  in  the  simple  idea  of  social  well-being 
and  happiness  ;  and,  if  we  look  a  little  deeper,  we  discovel 
that,  besides  the  progress  and  melioration  of  social  life,  an- 
other development  is  comprised  in  our  notion  of  civilization  • 
namely,  the  development  of  individual  life,  the  development 
of  the  human  mind  and  its  faculties — tlie  development  of  man 
himself 

It  is  this  dcvelojinient  which  so  strikingly  manifested  ilseJf 
in  France  and  Rome  at  these  epochs  ;  it  is  this  expansion  of 
human  •.ntclligence  which  gave  to  them  so  great  a  degree  of 
superiority  in  civilization.  In  these  countries  the  godlike 
principle  v/hich  distinguishes  man  from  the  brute  exhibited 
Itself  with  peculiar  grandeur  and  power  ,  and  compensated  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  for  the  defects  of  their  social  system 
The?e  communities  had  still  many  social  conquests  to  make , 
^ul  they  had   already  plorified  tliemselvcs  by  the  intelle(;tnaJ 


rivu.IXATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPR  25 

pnd  moral  vict(»ries  they  had  acliieveJ.  Many  of  the  con- 
iTiiioncos  of  life  were  liere  wanting  ;  from  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  connnunity  were  still  withheld  their  natural 
rights  and  political  privileges  :  but  see  the  number  of  illus- 
trious individuals  wlu)  lived  and  earned  the  applause  and  ap- 
probation of  their  fellow-men.  Here,  too,  literature.  Science, 
ftiid  art,  attained  extraordinary  perfection,  and  shone  in  more 
splendor  than  perhaps  they  had  ever  done  before.  Now, 
(vhorever  this  takef,  place,  wherever  man  sees  these  glorious 
idols  of  his  worsliip  displayed  in  their  full  lustre,  -wlicrevor 
l\c  sees  this  fund  of  rational  and  refined  enjoyment  (or  the 
godlike  part  of  his  nature  called  into  existence,  there  he  re- 
:ognises  and  adores  civilization. 

Two  clcmeiils,  then,  seem  to  be  comprised  in  the  great  fact 
which  we  call  civilization; — two  circumstances  are  necessary 
to  its  existence — it  lives  upon  two  conditions — it  reveals  itself 
by  two  symptoms :  the  progress  of  society,  the  progress  of 
mdividuals  ;  the  melioration  of  the  social  system,  and  the  ex- 
pansion of  the  mind  and  faculties  of  man.  Wherever  the 
exterior  condition  of  man  becomes  enlarged,  quickened,  and 
improved ;  wherever  the  intellectual  nature  of  man  distin- 
guishes itself  by  its  energy,  brilliancy,  and  its  grandeur ; 
wherever  these  two  signs  concur,  and  they  often  do  so,  nut- 
withstanding  the  gravest  imperfections  in  the  social  system, 
there  man  proclaims  and  applauds  civilization. 

Such,  if  I  mistake  not,  would  be  the  notion  mankind  in 
general  would  form  of  civilization,  from  a  simple  and  rational 
inquiry  into  the  meaning  of  the  term.  This  view  of  it  is  con- 
tirmed  by  History.  If  we  ask  of  her  what  has  been  the  char- 
acter of  every  great  crisis  favorable  to  civilization,  if  we  ex- 
amme  those  great  events  which  all  acknowledge  to  have  car- 
ried it  forward,  we  shall  always  find  one  or  other  of  the  two 
elements  which  I  have  just  described.  They  have  all  been 
epochs  of  individual  or  socia.1  improvement;  events  which 
have  either  wrought  a  change  in  individual  man,  in  his  opin- 
ions, his  manners  ;  or  in  his  exterior  condition,  his  situation 
»s  regards  his  relations  with  his  fellow-men.  Christianity, 
for  exam])le  •  I  allude  not  merely  to  the  first  moment  of  its 
appearance,  but  to  the  first  centuries  of  its  existence-— Chris- 
tianity was  in  no  way  addressed  to  the  social  condition  of 
man  ;  it  distinctly  disclaimed  all  interfeience  with  it.  Ii  conv 
cnauded  ihe  slave  to  obey  his  master.  t  attacked  none  of 
the  grea<  evib,  none  o*"  the  gross  acts  of  injustice,  by  whicb 


28  GENERAL    HISTORY    OP    THE 

ihe  social  system  of  that  day  waj  disfijrured  :  yet  who  but  will 
acknowledge  that  Christiaifity  has  been  cne  of  the  greatest 
promoters  of  civilization  ?  And  wherefore  ?  Because  it  lias 
changed  the  interior  condition  of  man,  his  opinions,  his  seu' 
timents  :  because  it  has  regenerated  his  moral,  his  intellecUi&l 
tharacter. 

We  have  seen  a  crisis  of  an  opposite  nature ;  a  crisia 
aflecting  not  the  intellectual,  but  the  outward  condition  of 
man,  which  has  changed  and  regenerated  society.  Tliis  al3«i 
we  may  rest  assured  is  a  decisive  crisis  of  civilization.  If 
we  search  history  through,  we  shall  everywhere  find  the 
same  result ;  we  shall  meet  with  no  important  event,  which 
had  a  direct  inlluence  in  the  advancement  of  civilization, 
which  has  not  exercised  it  in  one  of  the  two  wavs  I  have 
just  mentioned. 


Having  thus,  as  I  hope,  given  you  a  clear  notion  of  tlui  two 
elements  of  which  civilization  is  composed,  let  us  now  see 
whether  one  of  them  alom  would  be  sullicient  to  constitute 
it:  whether  either  the  development  of  the  social  condition,  or 
the  development  of  the  individual  man  taken  separately,  de- 
serves to  be  re^irded  as  c^ivilization  ?  or  whether  these  two 
events  are  so  intimately  connected,  that,  if  they  are  not  pro- 
duced siundtaneously,  they  are  nevertheless  so  intimuiely  con- 
nected, that,  sooner  or  later,  one  uniformly  produces  the  other  ? 

There  are  three  ways,  as  it  seems  to  me,  in  which  we  may 
proceed  in  deciding  this  question.  First :  we  may  investi- 
gate the  nature  itself  of  the  two  elements  of  civilization,  and 
see  whether  by  that  they  are  strictly  and  necessarily  bound 
together.  Secondly :  we  may  examine  historically  whether,  in 
fact,  they  have  manifested  themselves  separately,  or  whethei 
one  has  always  produced  the  other.  Thirdly :  we  may  cou- 
Hult  connnon  sense,  i.  e.,  the  general  opinion  of  mankind.  Let 
us  first  address  ourselves  to  the  general  opinion  of  mankin  1 — 
lo  common  sense. 

When  any  great  change  takes  place  in  the  state  of  a  cun- 
try — when  any  great  development  of  social  prosperity  is  ac- 
COinplislied  within  it — any  revolution  or  reform  in  the  powers 
inil  privileges  of  saciety,  this  ikew  event  naturally  has  its  (id- 
v«>rHaiicB.     It    is   necessarily  con  isted  and  opposed.     Now 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODEHN    EUROPE.  21 

irliat  fl-6  tho  olijcclions  wliidi  tlio  adversaries  of  8uch  revohi 
fions  bring  ag;iniat  flioin  ? 

They  assert  that  tliis  progress  of  tlie  social  condition  is  at* 
tended  with  no  advantage  ;  that  it  does  not  improve  in  a  cor- 
-esponding  degree  the  moral  state — the  intellectual  powers  o* 
man  ;  that  it  is  a  faL.o,  deceitful  progress,  which  proves  detri 
mental  to  his  moral  character,  to  the  true  interests  of  his  bet 
ter  nature.  On  tho  other  hand,  this  attack  is  repulsed  witk 
much  force  by  the  friends  of  the  movement.  They  maintain 
that  tho  progress  of  society  necessarily  leads  to  the  progress  oi 
intelligence  and  morality  ;  that,  in  proportion  as  the  social  life 
is  better  regulated,  individual  life  becomes  more  refined  and 
virtuous.  Thus  the  question  rests  in  abeyance  between  the 
opposers  and  partisans  of  the  change. 

But  reverse  this  hypothesis  ;  suppose  the  moral  develop- 
ment in  progress.  "What  do  the  men  who  labor  for  it  gener- 
ally hope  for  ? — What,  at  the  origin  of  societies,  have  lh# 
founders  of  religion,  the  sages,  poets,  and  philosophers,  who 
.have  labored  to  regulate  and  refine  the  manners  of  mankind, 
promised  themselves  ?  What  but  the  melioration  of  .ho  so- 
cial condition  :  the  more  equitable  distribution  of  the  olessings 
of  life  ?  What,  now,  let  me  ask,  should  be  inferred  from  this 
dispute  and  from  those  hopes  and  promises  ?  It  may,  I  think, 
be  fairly  inferred  that  it  is  the  spontaneous,  intuitive  convic 
tion  of  mankind,  that  the  two  elements  of  civilization — the  so 
cial  and  moral  development — are  intimately  connected  ;  that, 
at  the  approach  of  one,  man  looks  for  the  other.  It  is  to  this 
natural  conviction,  we  appeal  when,  to  second  or  combat  either 
one  or  the  other  of  the  two  elements,  we  deny  or  attest  ita 
union  with  the  other.  We  know  that  if  men  were  persuaded 
that  tho  melioration  of  tho  social  condition  would  operate 
against  the  expansion  of  the  intellect,  they  would  almost  op- 
pose and  cry  out  against  the  advancement  of  society.  On  the 
other  hand,  when  we  speak  to  mankind  of  improving  society 
by  improving  its  individual  members,  we  find  them  willing  U 
believe  us,  and  to  adopt  the  principle.  Hence  we  may  affirm 
that  it  IS  the  intuitive  belief  of  man,  that  these  two  elements  of 
civilization  are  intimately  connected,  and  that  they  reciprocally 
produce  one  another. 

If  we  now  examine  the  history  of  the  world  we  shall  have 
the  same  residt.  We  sball  find  tliat  every  expansion  of  hu- 
•nau  intelligence  has  proved  of  advantage  to  society  ;  and  tha' 


an  OIJNERAl,    HISTORY    DF   THE 

all  tlie  great  advances  in  the  social  condition  have  turnod  tc 
the  profit  of  humanity.  One  or  other  of  these  facts  may  pre 
dominate,  may  shine  forth  with  greater  splendor  for  a  season, 
and  impress  upon  the  movement  its  own  particular  character. 
At  times,  it  may  not  be  till  after  the  lapse  of  a  long  interval, 
%fter  a  thousand  transformations,  a  thousand  obstacles,  tbat 
jhe  second  shows  itself,  and  comes,  as  it  were,  to  complete 
the  civilization  which  the  first  had  begim  ;  but  when  we  look 
close  y  we  easil}'  recognise  the  link  by  which  they  are  con- 
oected.  The  movements  of  Providence  are  not  restricted  to 
narrow  bounds :  it  is  not  anxious  to  deduce  to-day  the  conse- 
quence of  the  premises  it  laid  down  yesterday.  It  may  defer 
this  for  ages,  till  the  fulness  of  time  shall  come.  Its  logic 
will  not  be  less  conclusive  for  reasoning  slowly.  Providence 
moves  through  time,  as  the  gods  of  Homer  through  space — it 
makes  a  step,  and  ages  have  rolled  away  !  How  long  a  time, 
how  many  circumstances  intervened,  before  the  regeneration 
of  the  moral  powers  of  man,  l)y  Christianity,  exercised  its 
great,  its  legitimate  influence  upon  his  social  condition  1  Yd 
who  can  doubt  or  mistake  its  power  ? 

If  we  pass  from  history  to  the  nature  itself  of  the  two  facts 
which  constitute  civilization,  we  are  hifalUbly  led  to  the  same 
-esult.  We  have  all  experienced  this.  If  a  man  makes  a 
mental  advance,  some  mental  discovery,  if  he  acquires  some 
new  idea,  or  some  new  faculty,  what  is  the  desire  that  takea 
possession  of  him  at  the  very  moment  he  makes  it  ?  It  is  the 
desire  to  promulgate  his  sentiment  to  the  exterior  world — to 
publish  and  realize  his  thought.  When  a  man  acquires  anew 
truth — when  his  being  in  his  own  eyes  has  made  an  advance, 
has  a:quired  a  new  gift,  immediately  there  becomes  joined  to 
this  acquirement  the  notion  of  a  mission,  lie  feels  obliged, 
impelled,  as  it  were,  by  a  secret  interest,  to  extend,  to  carry 
out  of  himself  the  change,  the  melioration  which  has  been  ac- 
complished wiildn  him.  To  what,  but  this,  do'  we  owe  the 
exertions  of  great  reformers  ?  The  exertions  of  those  great 
oenefactors  of  the  human  race,  who  have  changed  the  face 
of  the  world,  after  having  first  been  changed  themselves, 
havo  b«en  stimulated  and  governed  by  no  other  impulse  than 
Uiis. 

So  mucii  for  the  change  which  takes  place  in  the  intellec 
tual  man.  Let  us  now  consider  him  in  a  social  state  A 
revolution  ia  made  in  the   condition  of  society.     Rights  and 


CIVILirAlION    OF    jfODERN     EUROPE  29 

propprfy  arc  inoro  equitably  (lisfrilndoil  ainoiifr  iiidividimls  • 
this  is  as  miicli  as  to  say,  the  appearance  of  the  world  is  pu 
rer — is  more  beautiful.  The  state  of  things,  both  as  respeclfl 
governments,  and  as  respects  men  in  their  relations  with  each 
other,  is  improved.  And  can  there  bie  a  question  whether  the 
sight  of  this  goodly  spectacle,  whether  the  melioration  of  this 
external  condition  of  man,  will  have  a  corresponding  influence 
uponhi!)  moral,  his  individual  character — upon  humanity?  Such 
a  doubt  wouhl  belie  all  that  is  said  of  the  authority  of  exam- 
ple and  of  the  power  of  habit,  which  is  founded  upon  nothing 
but  the  conviction  that  exterior  facts  and  circumstances,  if 
good,  reasonable,  well-regulated,  are  followed,  sooner  or  later. 
more  or  less  completely,  by  intellectual  results  of  the  same 
nature,  of  the  same  beauty  :  that  a  world  better  governed,  bct- 
•er  regulated,  a  world  in  which  justice  more  fully  prevails, 
renders  man  himself  more  just.  That  the  intellectual  man 
then  is  instructed  and  improved  by  the  superior  condition  of 
society,  and  his  social  condition,  his  external  well-being,  me- 
liorated and  refined  by  increase  of  intelligence  in  iiulividuals  : 
that  the  two  elements  of  civilization  are  strictly  connected: 
that  ages,  that  obstacles  of  all  kinds,  may  interpose  between 
them — that  it  is  possible  they  may  undergo  a  thousand  trans- 
formations before  they  meet  together  ;  but  that  sooner  or  latei 
this  union  will  take  place  is  certain  ;  for  it  is  a  law  of  theii 
nature  that  they  should  do  so — the  great  facts  of  history  beai 
witness  that  such  is  really  the  case — the  instinctive  belief  of 
man  proclaims  the  same  truth. 


Thus,  though  I  have  not  by  a  great  deal  advanced  all  that 
might  be  said  upon  this  subject,  I  trust  I  have  given  a  tolera 
bly  correct  and  ade  juate  notion,  in  the  foregoing  cursory  ac- 
count, of  what  civilization  is,  of  what  are  its  offices,  and  what 
its  imj)ortance.  I  might  here  quit  the  subject ;  l»ul  I  cannot 
part  with  it,  without  placing  before  you  another  question, 
which  here  naturally  presents  itself — a  question  not  purely 
historical,  but  rather,  I  will  not  say  hypothetical,  but  conjee 
tural ;  a  question  which  we  can  see  here  but  in  part;  but 
which,  however,  is  not  less  real,  but  presses  itself  upon  oiii 
rioUcc  at  every  turn  of  thought. 

Of  the  two  developments,  of   which   we   have   just  now 
NpokoTi,  and    which  together  constitute   civiliza  ion  — of  »ht 


30  OUNl^K^L    IiISTi)RY    OF     THE 

ievelopmeiit  of  society  on  one  part,  and  of  the  expansion  o( 
numan  intelligence  on  the  other — which  is  me  end  ?  whicli 
are  the  means  ?  Is  it  for  the  improvement  of  the  social  con- 
dition, for  the  melioration  of  his  existence  upon  the  earth, 
that  man  fully  developes  himself,  his  mind,  his  faculties,  his 
sentiments,  his  ideas,  his  wliole  being  ?  Or  is  the  meliora- 
tion of  the  social  condition,  the  progress  of  society, — is  in 
d^sd  society  itself  merely  the  theatre,  the  occasion,  the  mo- 
ti/e  and  excitement  for  the  development  of  the  ir;Jividual? 
in  a  word,  is  society  formed  for  the  individual,  '7r  the  indi- 
rMual  for  society  1  Lpon  the  reply  to  this  quesiion  depends 
our  knowledge  of  whether  the  destiny  of  man  is  [urtdy  social, 
whether  society  exhausts  and  absorbs  the  entire  man,  or 
whether  he  bears  within  him  something  foreign,  something 
superior  to  his  existence  in  this  world  1 

One  of  the  greatest  philosophers  and  most  distinguished 
men  of  the  present  age,  whose  words  become  indelibly  en- 
graved upon  whatever  spot  they  fall,  has  resolved  this  (pies* 
lion  ;  he  has  resolved  it,  at  least,  according  to  his  own  con- 
viction. The  following  are  his  words  :  "  Hmnan  societies  are 
born,  live,  and  die,  upon  the  earth ;  there  they  accomplish 
their  destinies.  But  they  contain  not  the  wliole  man.  After 
his  engagement  to  society  there  still  remains  in  him  the  more 
noble  part  of  his  nature  ;  those  high  faculties  by  which  he 
elevates  himself  to  God,  to  a  future  life,  and  to  the  unknown 
blessings  of  an  invisible  world.  VVe,  individuals,  each  with 
a  separate  and  distinct  existence,  with  an  identical  person,  we. 
truly  beings  endowed  with  immortality,  we  have  a  higher  des- 
tiny than  that  of  states."* 

I  shall  add  nothing  on  this  subject ;  it  is  not  my  province 
to  handle  it  •  it  is  enough  for  me  to  have  placed  it  before  you. 
It  haunts  us  again  at  the  close  of  the  history  of  civilization. 
— Where  the  history  of  civilization  ends,  when  there  is  no 
niore  to  be  said  of  the  present  life,  man  invincibly  denumds 
if  all  is  over — if  that  be  the  end  of  all  things  ]  This,  then. 
is  the  last  problem,  and  the  grandest,  to  which  the  history  of 
civilization  can  lead  us.  It  is  sufficient  that  I  have  marked 
ite  place,  and  its  sublime  character.^ 

•  Opinion  De  Royer  Collard,  sur  If  projet  de  loi  rclatifau  sac 
nlege,  pp.  7  et  1". 

"^  Man  can  be  compTehended  cnly  as  a  free  moral  being,  tlmt  ly, 
as  a  rational  beiui?:  but  as  a  ratiuiial  buiii^  it  is  unnossible  to  com- 


CIVIMZATION    OF    MODERN    EUROPE  31 

From  the  foregoing  remarks,  it  becomes  evident  that  the 
history  of  civilization  may  be  considered  from  two  differeiil 
points  of  view — may  be  drawn  from  two  different  sources 
The  historian  may  take  np  his  abode  (hiring  tlie  time  prescrib- 
ed, say  a  series  of  c(Mitnries,  in  the  human  soul,  or  with  some 
particiihir  nation.  He  may  study,  describe,  rebate,  all  the  cir- 
Cinnsiances,  all  the  transformations,  all  the  revolutions,  wnicli 
may  have  taken  place  in  the  intellectual  man  ;  and  when  he 
had  done  this  he  would  have  a  history  of  the  civilization  among 
the  people,  or  during  the  period  which  he  had  chosen.  He 
might  proceed  dillerently:  instead  of  entering  into  the  in- 
terior of  man,  he  might  take  his  stand  i;i  the  external  world. 
He  might  take  his  station  in  the  midst  of  the  great  theatre  of 
life  ;  instead  of  describing  the  change  of  ideas,  of  the  senti- 
ments of  the  indi\idual  being,  he  might  describe  his  exterior 


preherid  his  existence,  if  it  be  limited  to  the  present  world.  In  the 
very  nature  of  human  reason  and  of  the  relations  of  the  human 
race  to  it,  lies  the  idea  of  the  destination  of  the  race  for  a  suner- 
tnundano  and  eternal  sphere.  Reason  is  the  germ  of  a  develop 
ment  which  is  not  and  cannot  be  reached  here  below.  To  doubt 
that  it  is  destined  for  development,  and  that  there  is  a  correspond- 
ing sphere,  is  contradictory:  it  is  to  doubt  whether  the  fruit,  un- 
folding from  the  blossom,  is  destined  by  its  constitution  to  ripen. 

Herein,  while  the  delusion  of  certain  philosophical  theories  re- 
specting Human  Perfectibility  is  made  apparent,  may  be  seen 
nevertheless  the  correct  idea  of  man's  earthly  life.  It  is  that  of  a 
continual  progress,  a  reaching  towards  that  perfection,  the  notion 
and  desire  of  which  lies  in  the  nature  of  his  reason. 

Humanity  in  all  its  social  efforts  has  always  been  governed  by 
the  idea  of  a  perfection  never  yet  attained  All  human  history 
may  in  one  view  be  regarded  as  a  series  of  attempts  to  realize  thia 
idea. 

As  individual  man  can  attain  the  ideal  perfection  o^  his  nature 
only  as  a  rational  being,  by  the  harmony  of  all  his  powers  with  his 
reason ;  so  it  is  equally  clear  that  humanity  can  realize  the  idea  of 
Bocial  perfection  only  as  a  rational  society,  by  the  union  and  broth- 
pi  hood  of  the  human  family,  and  the  harmony  of  all  individuals 
with  the  Divine  reason.  How  far  it  may  be  m  the  intentions  of 
Divine  Providence  that  the  human  race  shall  realize  tnis  perfection, 
tt  may  be  impossible  to  determine.  Certain  it  is,  that  it  can  nevei 
Oe  brought  about  by  any  mere  political  institutions,  by  checks  and 
wunltrcheclcs  of  interest,  by  any  balance  of  international  powers. 
Only  Christianity  can  effect  this  universal  brotherhood  of  nations, 
ftnd  bind  the  human  family  together  in  a  rational  that  is  a  fro* 
moral  socictv 


Hi  GENERAL    HISFORy    OF    THB 

circumstances,  the  events,  the  revoU.;ions  of  his  social  condi 
lion.  These  two  poriior.s,  these  two  histories  of  civilization, 
are  strictly  connected  with  each  other  ;  they  are  the  counter- 
part the  reflected  image  of  one  another.  They  may,  how- 
ever^  be  separated.  Perhaps  it  is  necessary,  at  least  in  the 
beginning,  in  order  to  be  exposed  in  detail  and  with  clearnesS( 
lliat  they  should  be.  For  my  part  I  have  no  intention,  upon 
iho  present  occasion  .0  enter  upon  the  history  of  civilization 
in  the  human  mind  the  history  of  the  exterior  events  of  the 
visible  and  social  world  is  that  to  which  I  shall  call  your  at 
»ention.  It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  be  able  to  display  be- 
fore you  the  phenomenon  of  civilization  in  the  way  I  under' 
stand  it,  in  all  its  bearings,  in  its  widest  extent — to  place  be- 
fore you  all  the  vast  questions  to  which  it  gives  rise.  But,  for 
the  present,  I  must  restrain  my  wishes  ;  I  nmst  confine  my 
self  to  a  narrower  field :  it  is  only  the  history  of  the  social 
state  that  I  shall  attempt  to  narrate. 

My  first  object  will  be  to  seek  out  the  elements  of  Eu- 
ropean civilization  at  the  lime  of  its  birth,  at  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  empire — to  examine  carefully  society  such  as  it  was 
in  the  midst  of  these  famous  ruins.  I  shall  endeavor  to  pick 
out  these  elements,  and  to  place  them  before  you,  side  by  side  ; 
I  shall  endeavor  to  put  them  in  motion,  and  to  follow  them  in 
their  progress  through  the  fifteen  centuries  which  have  rolled 
away  since  that  epoch. 

\Ve  sliall  not,  1  think,  proceed  far  in  this  study,  without 
being  convinced  that  civilization  is  still  in  its  infancy.  How 
distant  is  tlie  liuman  ndnd  from  the  perfection  to  which  it  may 
attain — from  the  perfection  for  wh'ch  it  was  created!  How 
incapable  are  we  of  grasping  the  whole  future  destiny  of  man  ! 
Let  any  one  even  descerul  into  his  own  mind — let  him  picture 
there  the  higliest  point  of  perlection  lo  which  man,  to  which  so- 
ciety may  attain,  that  he  can  conceive,  that  he  can  hope  ; — let 
him  then  contrast  this  picture  with  the  present  state  of  the 
world,  and  he  will  feel  assured  that  society  and  civilization 
are  still  in  their  childhood  :  that  however  great  the  distancj 
they  have  advanced,  that  which  they  have  before  them  is  in 
comparal)ly,  is  infinitely  greater.  This,  however,  should  noi 
lehsen  the  pleasure  with  which  we  contemplate  our  present 
coitdition.  When  you  have  run  over  with  me  llie  great  epochs 
Ol  civilization  during  the  last  fifteen  centuries,  you  will  see. 
up  to  our  Mme,  how  painful,  how  stormy,  has  been  the  condi- 
tion of  man  ;  how  hard  has  been  his  iOt,  not  oidv  out  vardl} 


CIVILIZATION    OF    MODERN    fiUROPE.  93 

IS  regards  society,  but  internally,  as  regards  llic  intellectual 
man.  For  fifteen  centuries  the  human  mind  has  suflered  as 
much  as  the  human  race.  You  will  see  that  it  is  oidy  lately 
that  the  human  mind,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  has  arrived, 
imperfect  though  its  condition  still  be,  to  a  state  where  some 
peace,  some  harmony,  some  freedom  is  found.  The  same 
holds  with  regard  to  society — its  immense  progress  is  evident 
—the  condition  of  man,  compared  with  what  it  has  been,  is 
easy  and  just.  In  thiiddng  of  our  ancestors  we  may  almost 
apply  10  ourselves  the  verses  of  Lucretius  : — 

«* Suave  mari  magno,  tnrbantibus  sequora  ventis, 
E  terra  magnum  allerius  spectaie  laborem." 

Without  any  great  degree  of  pride  we  may,  as  Sthenelas  is 
made  to  do  in  Homer,  Hf^x  ""•  '^a^pw  i'^y'  vt'""^^?  cvxoi^ce'  vvai>, 
■'  Keturn  thanks  to  God  that  we  are  ir  finitely  better  than  our 
fathers." 

We  must,  however,  take  care  not  to  deliver  ourselves  up  too 
fully  to  a  notion  of  our  happiness  and  our  improved  condition 
It  may  lead  us  into  two  serious  evils,  pride  and  inactivity  ; — 
It  may  give  us  an  overweening  confidence  in  the  power  and 
success  of  the  human  mind,  of  its  present  attainments  ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  dispose  us  to  apathy,  enervated  by  the  agree- 
ableness  of  our  condition.  I  know  not  if  this  strikes  you  as 
it  does  nie,  but  in  my  judgment  we  continually  oscillate  be- 
tween an  inclination  to  complain  without  sufiicient  cause,  and 
to  be  too  easily  satisfied.  We  have  an  extreme  susceptibility 
of  mind,  an  inordinate  craving,  an  ambition  in  our  thoughts,  in 
our  desires,  and  in  the  movements  of  our  imagination  ;  yet 
when  we  come  to  practical  life — when  trouble,  when  sacrifi' 
ces,  when  efforts  are  required  for  the  attainment  of  our  object, 
we  sink  into  lassitude  and  inactivity.  We  are  discouraged 
almost  as  easily  as  we  had  been  excited.  Let  us  not,  how- 
ever, sufier  ourselves  to  be  invaded  by  either  of  these  vices. 
Let  us  estimate  fairly  what  our  abilities,  our  knowledge,  our 
power  enable  us  to  do  lawfully  ;  and  let  us  aim  at  nothing  that 
we  ciunot  lawfully,  justly,  prudently— with  a  proper  respect 
to  the  great  principles  upon  which  our  social  system,  our  ciyi- 
Ii2a*ioi  is  based — attain.  The  age  of  barbarian  Europe,  with 
Its  bruie  ibrce,  its  violence,  its  lies  and  deceit, — the  habitua.' 
pracicc  undi-rwhich  Europe  groaned  during  four  or  five  cen- 
tll^ie^^  aro  passed  riway  for  ever,  and  has  given  place  to  a  bet 


84  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

:er  order  of  things.  We  trust  that  the  time  now  approaches 
when  man's  condition  shall  be  progressively  improved  by  the 
foice  of  reason  and  truth,  when  the  brute  part  of  nature  shall 
be  crushed,  thai  the  godlike  spirit  may  unfoUl.  In  the  moan 
time  let  us  be  cautious  that  no  vague  desires,  that  no  extrava- 
gant theories,  the  time  for  which  may  not  yet  be  come,  carry 
ua  beyond  the  bounds  of  prudence,  or  beget  in  us  a  discon 
cent  with  our  present  state.  To  us  much  has  been  given,  of 
us  much  will  be  required.  Posterity  will  denumd  a  strict  ac- 
count of  our  conduct — the  public,  the  government,  all  is  now 
open  to  discussion,  to  examination.  Let  us  then  attach  our 
Bcives  firmly  to  the  principles  of  our  civilization,  to  justice,  to 
the  laws,  to  liberty :  and  never  forget,  that,  if  we  have  the 
light  to  demand  that  all  thirgs  shall  be  laid  open  before  U9, 
and  jiidgrd  by  us,  we  likewise  are  before  the  world,  wlia  wiU 
.-ixaminc  us,  and  judge  us  according  to  our  works. 


LECTURE  !!.• 

IP      E(TROfaAN     CIVILIZATION     IN     PARTICCLAR:      ITS      DIWTIN 

ODISHINO    CHARACTERISTICS ITS    SUPERIORITY US    ELB 

MRNTS. 

In  the  preceding  Lecture,  I  endeavored  to  give  an  expla- 
nation o(  civilization  in  general.  Without  referring  to  any 
civilization  in  particular,  or  to  circumstances  of  time  and  place 
I  essayed  to  place  it  before  you  in  a  point  of  view  purely  phi* 
(osophical.  I  purpose  now  to  enter  upon  the  History  of  the 
Civilization  of  Europe ;  but  before  doing  so,  before  going 
mto  its  j)roper  history,  I  must  make  you  acquainted  with  the 
peculiar  character  of  tliis  civilization — with  its  distinguishing 
features,  bo  tliat  you  may  be  able  to  recognise  and  distinguish 
European  civilization  from  every  other. 

When  we  look  at  the  civilizations  which  have  preceded  that 
of  modern  Europe,  whether  in  Asia  or  elsewhere,  including 
even  those  of  Greece  and  Rome,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be 
etruck  with  the  unity  of  character  which  reigns  among  them. 
Each  appears  as  though  it  had  emanated  from  a  single  fact, 
from  a  single  idea.  One  might  almost  assert  that  society  was 
inider  the  influence  of  one  single  principle,  which  universally 
prevailed  and  determined  the  character  of  its  institutions,  its 
maimers,  its  opinions — in  a  word,  all  its  developments. 
^  In  Egypt,  for  example,  it  was  the  theocratic  principle  that 
took  j)ossession  of  society,  and  showed  itself  in  its  manners, 
m  its  monuments,  and  in  all  that  has  come  down  to  us  of 
Egj-ptian  civilization.  In  India  the  same  phenomenon  occuth 
•-it  is  still  a  repe.  tion  of  the  almost  exclusively  prevailing 


•  This  lecture,  in  the  original,  is  introduced  by  a  {^vj  worrla.  «a 
9rhich  the  author  olTers  to  explain  privately  any  points  of  his  ais- 
jourse,  not  well  understood,  to  such  as  shall  apply  ;  also  to  state 
that  he  is  obliged  frequently  to  make  assertions  without  being 
able,  from  the  short  lime  allu'ted  to  him,  to  give  the  proofs  they 
••eeiu  to  require. 
3 


tfU  GENKRAL    HIS TOllY    OF 

inlluence  (/f  theocracy.  In  other  regions  a  difierent  orgaaizH 
lion  may  be  observed — perhaps  the  domination  of  a  conqiiof 
ing  caste  :  and  where  such  is  ihe  case,  the  principle  of  force 
lakes  entire  possession  of  society,  imposing  upon  it  its  lawa 
and  its  character.  In  another  place,  perhaps,  we  discover 
Bo:i3.y  under  the  entire  influence  of  the  democratic  principle; 
such  \\  as  the  case  in  the  commercial  republics  which  covered 
the  coasts  of  Asia  Minor  and  Syria — in  Ionia  aiid  Phrenicia 
In  a  word,  whenever  we  contemplate  the  civilizations  of 
llie  ancients,  we  find  them  all  impressed  with  one  ever-pre- 
vailing character  of  unity,  visible  ir.  their  institutions,  theii 
ideas,  and  manners — one  sole,  or  at  least  one  very  prepon- 
derating influence,  s«ems  tc  govern  and  determine  all  things. 

I  do  not  mean  to  aver  that  this  overpowering  influence  of 
one  single  principle,  of  one  single  form,  prevailed  without 
any  exception  in  the  civilization  of  those  states.  If  we  go 
back  to  their  earliest  history,  we  shall  find  that  the  varioua 
powers  which  dwelt  in  the  bosom  of  these  societies  fre- 
quently struggled  for  mastery.  Thus  among  the  Egyptians, 
he  Etruscans,  even  among  the  Greeks  and  others,  we  may 
observe  the  warrior  caste  struggling  against  that  of  the 
priests.  In  other  places  we  find  the  spirit  of  clanship  strug- 
gling against  the  spirit  of  free  association,  the  spirit  of  aristo- 
cracy against  popular  rights.  These  struggles,  however,  mostly 
cook  place  in  periods  beyond  the  reach  of  history,  and  no  evi- 
dence of  them  is  left  beyond  a  vague  tradition. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  these  early  struggles  broke  out  afresh 
M  a  later  period  in  the  history  of  the  nations  ;  but  in  almost 
every  ca«e  they  were  quickly  terminated  by  the  victory  of  one 
of  the  powers  which  sought  to  prevail,  and  which  then  took 
.sole  possession  of  society.  The  war  always  ended  by  the 
domination  of  some  special  principle,  which,  if  not  exclusive,  M 
at  least  greatly  preponderated.  The  co-existence  and  strife 
of  various  principles  among  these  nations  were  no  more  than 
1  passing,  an  accidental  circumstance. 

Fiom  this  cause  a  remarkable  unity  cliaracteriz(?s  most  ol 
the  civilizations  of  antiquity,  the  resi^lts  of  which,  hoveve; 
vrerc  very  dilFerent.  In  one  nation,  as  in  Greece,  the  unity 
jf  tho  social  principle  led  to  a  development  of  wonderful  ra 
pidiiy ;  no  other  people  ever  ran  so  brilliant  a  career  in  ao 
bliort  a  time.  But  Greece  hac)/ hardly  become  glorious,  befVri; 
bIjo  appeared  worn  out :   her  decline,  if  not  quite  so  rav^id  i>f 


CIVIMZATION     IN    MODERN     EUROPE  37 

lor  rise,  was  strangely  smlden.  It  seetns  as  if  tlie  principlf, 
which  called  Greek  civilization  into  life  was  exhausted.  Nc 
Dihor  came  to  invigorate  it,  or  supply  its  place. 

In  other  states,  say,  for  example,  in  India  and  Egypt,  A'here 
ayain  ordy  one  principle  of  civilization  prevailed,  the  result 
was  dillerent.  Society  here  became  stationary;  simplicity 
jToduced  monotony  ;  the  country  was  not  destroyed  ;  society 
continued  to  exist ;  but  there  was  no  progression  ;  it  remained 
torpid  and  inactive. 

To  this  same  cause  must  be  attributed  that  character  of  ty- 
ranny which  prevailed,  under  various  names,  and  the  mosl 
Oj)posite  forms,  in  all  the  civilizations  of  antiquity.  Society 
bc^longed  to  one  exclusive  power,  which  could  bear  with  no 
other.  Every  principle  of  a  different  tendency  was  proscrib- 
ed. The  governing  principle  would  nowhere  sufi'er  by  its 
side  the  manifestation  and  influence  of  a  rival  principle. 

This  character  of  simplicity,  of  unity,  in  their  civilization 
is  equally  impressed  upon  their  literature  and  intellectual  pro- 
ductions. Who  tlial  has  run  over  the  monuments  of  Hindoo 
literature  lately  introduced  into  Europe,  but  has  seen  that  they 
are  all  struck  from  the  same  die  ?  They  all  seem  the  result 
of  one  same  fact ;  the  expression  of  one  same  idea.  Re- 
ligious and  moral  treatises,  historical  traditions,  dramatic  po- 
etry, epics,  all  bear  tlie  same  physiognomy.  The  same  charac- 
ter of  unity  and  monotony  shines  out  in  these  works  of  mind 
and  fancy,  as  we  discover  in  their  life  and  institutions.  Even 
in  Greece,  notwithstanding  the  immense  stores  of  knowledge 
and  intellect  which  it  poured  forth,  a  wonderful  unity  still  pre- 
vailed in  all  relating  to  litrrature  and  the  arts, 


How  diflerent  to  all  this  is  the  case  as  respects  the  civili 
nation  of  modern  Europe  !  Take  ever  so  rapid  a  glance  at 
this,  and  it  strikes  you  at  once  as  diversified,  confused,  and 
fclormy.  All  the  principles  of  social  organization  are  found 
existing  togethei  within  it ;  powers  temporal,  powers  spirit- 
ual, the  tlicocratic,  monarchic,  aristocratic,  and  democratic 
oisments,  all  classes  of  society,  all  the  social  situations,  art 
jumbled  together,  and  visible  within  it ;  as  well  as  infinite 
gradations  of  liberty,  of  wealth,  and  of  influence.  These  ra- 
rinus  powers,  too,  are  found  here  in  a  state  of  continual  struggle 
«mong  themselves,  without  any  one  having  su/Hcient  force  tf 


J8  QK.VESAL    HISTORY    or 

master  the  others,  and  take  sole  possession  of  society.  Among 
the  ancients,  a*  every  great  epoch,  all  coinmnnities  sejin  cast 
m  the  same  mould  :  it  was  now  pure  monarchy,  now  theocrac) 
or  democracy,  that  became  the  reigning  principle,  each  in  its 
fiirn  reigning  absoluiely.  But  modern  Europe  contains  r\ 
amples  of  all  ^hese  systems,  of  all  the  attempts  at  social  or- 
ganization ,  pure  and  mixed  monarchies,  theocracies,  rt  publica 
more  or  less  aristocratic,  all  live  in  common,  side  by  side,  at 
[)ne  and  the  same  t.me  ;  yet,  notwithstanding  their  diversity, 
they  all  bear  a  certain  resemblance  to  eac.i  other,  a  kind  of 
family  likeness  which  it  is  impossible  to  mistake,  and  which 
^hows  them  to  be  essentially  European 

In  the  moral  character,  in  the  notions  and  sentiments  of 
Europe,  we  find  the  same  variety,  the  same  struggle.  Theo- 
cratical  opinions,  monarchical  opinions,  aristocratic  opinions 
democratic  opinions,  cross  and  jostle,  struggle,  become  inter- 
woven, limit,  and  modify  each  other.  Open  the  boldest  trea- 
tises of  the  middle  age  :  in  none  of  them  is  an  opinion  carried 
}o  its  final  consequences.  The  advocates  of  absolute  power 
ilinch,  almost  unconsciously,  from  the  results  to  which  their 
Joctriiie  would  carry  them.  We  see  that  the  ideas  and  influ- 
ences around  them  frighten  them  from  pushing  it  to  its  utter- 
most point.  Democracy  felt  the  same  control.  That  imper- 
tuibable  boldness,  so  striking  in  ancient  civilizations,  nowhere 
found  a  place  in  the  European  system.  In  sentiments  we 
discover  the  same  contrasts,  the  same  variety;  an  indomita- 
ble taste  for  independence  dwelling  by  the  side  of  the  greatest 
aptness  for  submission ;  a  singular  fidelity  between  man  and 
man,  and  at  the  same  time  an  imperious  desire  in  each  to  do 
his  own  will,  to  shake  off  all  restraint,  to  live  alone,  without 
troubling  himself  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  Minds  were  -xn 
much  diversified  as  society. 

The  same  characteristic  is  observable  in  literature.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  in  what  relates  .o  the  form  and  beauty 
uf  art,  modern  Europe  is  very  inferior  to  antiquity  ;  but  if  we 
look  at  her  literature  as  regards  depth  of  feeling  and  ideas,  it 
will  be  found  nore  powerful  and  rich.  Tlie  human  mind  tian 
bei  n  employed  upon  a  greater  number  of  ol)jects,  us  labor.^ 
littve  been  more  diversified,  it  has  gone  to  a  greater  dejnh 
Its  imperfection  in  'brm  is  owing  to  this  very  cause.  The 
more  plenteous  an'\  rich  the  materials,  the  greater  is  the  dif 


CIVILIZATION    JN    MODERN    EUROPE. 


39 


ht;ulty  of  forcing  tlicm  into  a  pure  and  simple  form.  Thai 
ivliich  gives  beauty  to  a  composition,  tliat  which  in  works  of 
art  we  call  form,  is  the  clearness,  the  simplicity,  the  symbo' 
lical  unity  of  tlie  work.  With  the  prodigious  diversity  of 
ideas  and  sentiments  which  belong  to  European  civilization, 
Uie  diflicully  to  attain  this  grand  and  chaste  simplicity  ha? 
btjon  increased. 

In  e^ery  part,  then,  we  find  this  character  of  variety  to  pre 
fail  in  modern  civilization.  It  has  undoubtedly  brought  with 
it  this  inconvenience,  that  when  we  consider  separately  any 
particular  development  of  the  human  mind  in  literature,  in  the 
arts,  in  any  of  the  ways  in  which  human  intelligence  may  go 
forward,  we  shall  generally  find  it  inferior  to  the  correspond- 
ing development  in  the  civilization  of  antiquity  ;  but,  as  a  set- 
off to  this,  wlien  we  regard  it  as  a  whole,  European  civiliza- 
tion appears  incomparably  more  rich  and  diversified  :  if  each 
particular  fruit  has  not  attained  the  same  perfection,  it  has 
ripened  an  infinitely  greater  variety.  Again,  European  civil- 
ization has  now  endured  fifteen  centuries,  and  in  all  that  time 
it  has  been  in  a  state  of  progression.  It  may  be  true  that  it 
has  not  advanced  so  rapidly  as  the  Greek ;  but,  catching  new 
impulses  at  every  step,  it  is  still  advancing.  An  unbounded  ca- 
reer is  open  before  it ;  and  from  day  to  day  it  presses  forward 
to  the  race  with  increasing  rapidity,  because  increased  free- 
dom attends  upon  all  its  movements.  While  in  other  civiliza- 
tions the  exclusive  domination,  or  at  least  the  excessive  pre- 
ponderance of  a  single  principle,  of  a  single  form,  led  to  ty- 
ranu)',  in  modern  Europe  the  diversity  of  the  elements  of  so- 
cial order,  the  incapability  of  any  one  to  exclude  the  rest, 
gave  birth  to  the  lil)orty  which  now  prevails.  The  inability 
of  the  various  principles  to  exterminate  one  another  comj)elled 
each  to  endure  the  others,  made  it  necessary  for  them  to  live 
in  common,  for  them  tu  enter  into  a  sort  of  mutual  understand- 
ing. Each  consented  to  have  only  that  part  of  civilization 
which  fell  to  its  share.  Thus,  while  everywhere  else  the 
predominance  of  one  principle  has  produced  tyranny,  the 
I'lriety  of  elements  of  European  civilization,  and  the  constant 
R  arfare  in  which  they  have  been  engaged,  have  given  birth  iii 
^.urope  10  that  liberty  which  we  prize  so  dearly. 

It  is  this  which  g'ves  to  European  civilization  its  real,  its 
immense  superiority — it  is  this  which  ftrms  its  esrent'al,  it*" 


40  GENERAL    HISTORY    Of 

lislinttive  character.  And  if,  carrying  our  views  slili  I'urthci 
we  penetrate  beyond  the  surface  into  the  very  nature  of  things 
we  shall  find  that  this  superiority  is  legitimate — that  it  is  ac 
knowledged  by  reason  as  well  as  proclaimed  by  facts.  Quit- 
ting for  a  moment  European  civilization,  and  taking  a  glance 
at  the  world  in  general,  at  the  common  course  of  earthlj 
things,  what  is  ihe  character  we  find  it  to  bear  ?  What  do 
we  here  perceive  1  Why  just  that  very  same  diversity,  thai 
very  same  variety  of  elements,  that  very  same  struggle  which 
is  so  strikingly  evinced  in  European  civilization.  It  is  plain 
enough  that  no  single  principle,  no  particidar  organization,  no 
simple  idea,  no  special  power  has  ever  been  permitted  lo  ob- 
tain possession  of  the  world,  to  mould  it  into  a  durable  form, 
and  to  drive  from  it  every  opposing  tendency,  so  as  to  reign 
Itself  supreme.  Various  powers,  principles,  and  systems  here 
intermingle,  modify  one  another,  and  struggle  incessantly — ■ 
now  subduing,  now  subdued — never  wholly  conquered,  never 
conquering.  Such  is  apparently  the  general  state  of  the  world, 
while  diversity  of  forms,  of  ideas,  of  principles,  their  strug- 
gles and  their  energies,  all  tend  towards  a  certain  unity, 
certain  ideal,  which,  though  perhaps  it  may  never  be  at- 
tained, maidiind  is  constantly  approaching  by  dint  of  liberty 
and  labor.  Hence  European  civilization  is  the  reflected  im- 
age of  the  world — like  the  course  of  earthly  things,  it  is  nei- 
ther narrowly  circumscribed,  exclusive,  nor  stationary.  For 
the  first  time,  civilization  appears  to  have  divested  itself  of 
its  special  character  :  its  development  presents  itself  for  the 
first  time  under  as  diversified,  as  abundant,  as  laborious  an 
aspect  as  the  great  theatre  of  the  universe  itself. 

European  civilization  has,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expres- 
sion, at  last  penetrated  into  the  ways  of  eternal  truth — into 
the  scheme  of  Providence  ; — it  moves  in  the  ways  which 
God  has  prescribed.  This  is  the  rational  principle  of  its 
superiority. 

Let  it  not,  I  beseech  you,  be  forgotten — bear  in  mind,  as 
»  n  proceed  with  these  lectures,  that  it  is  in  this  diversity  ol" 
elements,  a-id  their  constant  struggle,  that  the  essential  char- 
acter of  om  civilization  consists.  At  present  I  can  do  no  mort' 
han  assert  this  ;  its  proof  will  be  found  in  the  facts  I  shaU 
bring  before  you.  Still  1  think  you  will  acknowledge  it  to  bf 
I  confirmati  in  of  this  ap«er'.ic)n,  if  i  can  show  yo\i  that  the 
sauses,  and  the  elements  of  the  character  which  1  havo   yxX 


CIVILIZATION      N     MODERN     EUROPE.  41 

lUiibiiled  to  it,  can  be  traced  to  the  very  cradle  of  our  civiliza* 
tion.  If,  I  say,  at  the  very  moment  of  her  birth,  at  the  vcrj 
hour  in  which  the  Roman  empire  fell,  I  can  show  you,  in  the 
state  of  the  vvorhl,  t)ie  circumstances  which,  from  tlie  begin- 
ning, liave  concurred  to  give  to  European  civilization  iha 
aijOtated  and  diversified,  but  at  the  same  time  prolific  chaiac 
lor  which  distingnislies  it,  I  think  I  shall  have  a  strong  claiit. 
upon  your  assent  to  its  truth.  In  order  to  accomplish  this,  I 
shall  begin  by  investigating  the  condition  of  Europe  at  the 
fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  so  thai  we  may  discover  in  its  in- 
stitutions, in  its  opinions,  its  ideas,  its  sentiments,  what  were 
the  elements  which  the  ancient  world  bequeathed  to  the  mo- 
dern. And  upon  these  elements  you  will  see  strongly  impres- 
sed the  character  which  I  have  just  described. 


It  is  necessary  that  we  should  first  see  what  the  Roman 
empire  was,  and  how  it  was  formed 

Rome  in  its  origin  wa.s  a  mere  municipality,  a  corporation. 
The  Roman  government  was  nothing  more  than  an   assem- 
blage of  institutions  suitable  to  a  population  enclosed  within 
the  walls  of  a  city  ;  that  is  to  say,  they  were  municipal  iiisti 
tutions  ; — this  was  their  distinctive  character. 

This  was  not  peculiar  to  Rome.  If  we  look,  in  this  period, 
at  the  part  of  Italy  which  surrounded  Rome,  we  find  nothing 
but  cities.  What  were  then  called  nations  were  nothing  more 
than  confederations  of  cities.  The  Latin  nation  was  a  con- 
federation of  Latin  cities.  The  Etrurians,  the  Samnites,  the 
Sabines,  the  nations  of  Magna  Grancia,  were  all  composed  in 
the  same  way. 

At  this  time  there  were  no  country  places,  no  villages  ;  at 
least  the  country  was  nothing  like  what  it  is  in  the  present 
day.  It  was  cultivated,  no  doubt,  but  it  was  not  peopled.  The 
proprietors  of  lands  and  of  country  estates  dwelt  in  cities  ; 
they  left  these  occasionally  to  visit  their  rural  property,  wliero 
they  usually  kept  a  certain  number  of  slaves ;  but  that  which 
we  now  call  the  country,  that  scattered  population,  sometimes 
in  lone  houses,  sometimes  in  hamlets  and  villages,  and  which 
everywhere  dD's  our  land  with  agricultural  dvi^ellings,  was  al- 
ogether  unknown  in  ancient  Italy. 

And  »vLat  was  the  case  when  Rome  extended  her  boundB- 


i2  OENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

/  ries  1     li'  we  follow  her  history,  we  shall  find  that  .sat  i;oij 
I  nuered  or  founded  a  host  of  cities.     It  was  with  cit'es  shi 
fought,  it  was  with  cities  she  treated,  it  was  into  cities  sin' 
I    sent  colonies.     In  short,  the  history  of  the  conquest  of  the 
I    world  by  Rome  is  the  history  of  the  conquest  and  foundatioi 
'    of  a  vast  number  of  cities.     It  is  true  that  in  the  East  the  es 
tension  of  the  Roman  domin'on  bore  somewhat  of  a  differeni 
character  •    he  population  was  not  distributed  there    in   th«' 
same  way  as  in  the  western  world ;  it  was  under  a  social  sys 
tem,  partaking  more  of  the  patriarchal  form,  and  was  conse- 
quently njuch  less  concentrated  in  cities       But,  as  we  have 
only  to  do  with  the  population  of  Europe,  I  ihall  not  dwell 
upon  what  relates  to  that  of  the  East 

Confining  ourselves,  then,  to  the  West,  we  shall  fuid  the 
fact  to  be  such  as  I  have  described  it.     In  the   Gaids,    in 
Spain,  we  meet  with  jiothing  but  cities.  At  any  distance  from 
these,  the  country  consisted  of  marshes  and  forests.   Examine 
the  character  of  the  monuments  left  us  of  ancient  Rome — the 
old  Roman  roads.     We  find  great  roads  extending  from  city 
CO  city  ;  but  the  thousands  of  little  by-paths,  which  now  inter- 
sect every  pari  of  the  country,  were  then  unknown.     Neilhei 
do  we  find  any  traces  of  that  immense  number  of  lesser  ob 
jects — of  churches,  castles,  country-seats,  and  villages,  whi<,h 
were  spread  all  over  the  country  during  the    middle    ages 
,    Rome  has  left  no  traces  of  this  kind ;  her  oidy  bequest  con- 
I    sists  of  vast  monuments  impressed  with  a  municipal  charac- 
ter, destined  for  a  numerous  population,  crowded  into  a  single 
I    spot.      In   whatever  point  of  view  you  consider  tlie   Roman 
i    world,  you  meet  with  this  almost  exclusive  preponderance  of 
'.   cities,  and  an  absence  of  country  populations  and  dwellingh 
\  This  municipal  character  of  the  Roman  world  evidently  ren 
\  dered  the  unity,  the  social  tie  of  a  greal  state,  extremely  dilfi- 
cult  to  establish  and  maintain. 


A  municipal  corporation  like  Rome  might  be  able  to  con 
quer  the  world,  but  it  was  a  much  more  difiicult  task  to  govern 
it,  to  mould  it  into  one  compact  body.  Thus,  when  the  work 
fleemed  done,  when  all  the  West,  and  a  great  part  of  tho 
East,  had  submitted  to  the  Roman  yoke,  we  find  an  inunense 
DOSt  of  cities,  of  little  states  formed  for  separate  existencf 
and  independence,  breaking    heir  chains,  esc'iping  an  every 


CrTILIZATTON    IN    MODERN    EUROPE 


43 


Jldc.  This  was  ono  of  the  causes  which  made  the  est;ibhsh- 
ment  of  the  f^iipire  necessary;  which  called  for  a  more  con 
centrated  form  of  government,  one  better  able  to  hold  together 
elements  which  had  so  few  points  of  cohesion.  The  empire 
endeavored  to  unite  and  to  bind  together  this  extensive  ont) 
scat'ercd  society ;  and  to  a  certain  point  it  succeeded  tfC' 
twcr^n  the  reigns  of  Augustus  and  Dioclesian,  during  the  very 
lime  that  her  admirable  civil  legislation  was  being  carried  tc 
perfection,  that  vast  and  despotic  administration  was  establish- 
ed, which,  spreading  over  the  empire  a  sort  of  chain-work  of 
functionaries  subordinately  arranged,  firmly  knit  together  the 
people  and  the  imperial  court;  serving  at  the  same  time  to  con- 
vey to  society  the  will  of  the  government,  and  to  bring  to  tho 
government  the  tribute  and  obedience  of  society. ^ 

8  Dioclesian,  A.  D.  284,  must  be  regarded  as  the  first  who  at- 
tempted to  substitute  a  regularly  organized  system  of  oriental 
nionarcliy,  with  its  imposing  ceremonial,  and  its  long  gradation  ol 
dignities,  proceeding  from  the  throne  as  the  centre  of  all  authority 
and  the  source  of  all  dignity,  in  place  of  the  former  military  despot- 
ism, supported  only  upon,  and  therefore  always  at  the  mercy  of, 
ihe  preturian  guards. 

This  system  was  still  further  perfected  by  Constantine  the 
Great,  A.  D.  324,  who  introduced  several  important  changes  into 
the  constitution  of  the  empire. 

He  divided  the  empire  into  four  great  prefectures;  the  East; 
Illyricum  ;  Italy  ;  and  Gaul. 

The  four  pretorian  prefects  created  by  Dioclesian  were  retained 
by  Constantine;  but  with  a  very  material  change  in  their  powers. 
He  deprived  them  of  all  military  command,  and  made  them  merely 
civil  governors  in  the  four  prefectures. 

He  consolidated  still  more  his  monarchical  system  by  an  organi- 
.^aiion  of  ecclesiastical  dignities  corresponding  with  the  gradations 
of  the  civil  administration. 

This  system  continued  substantially  unchanged  at  the  division  ol 
the  empire,  A.  D.  395,  and  was  perpetuated  after  that  period. 

Each  of  the  empires  was  divided  into  two  prefectures,  and  the 
prefectures  into  diocesses,  in  the  following  manner : 


Ea9TKRN 

Esn-iRE. 


Prefectures. 


I.  The  East. 


II.  IlLVR».2UM. 


Diocesses. 

1.  The  East 

2.  Ejrypt. 


Asia  Minor. 

Pontus. 

Thrace. 


1.  Macedonia  (nil  Greece). 
iJ.  Dacia  (within  the  Danubei 


■44 


GENERAL    HISTORS     OV 


I  .  This  sysieni,  besides  rallying  the  forces,  a  ;(]  liolling  lo 
/  gether  the  elements,  of  the  Roman  world,  ir.iroduced  'wiili 
I  v/onderful  celerity  into  society  a  taste  fur  despotism,  for  ce n 
I  tral  power.  It  is  truly  astonishing  to  see  how  rapidly  this  in- 
coherent assemblage  of  little  republics,  this  association  of 
\  niunicipal  corporations,  sunk  into  an  humble  and  obedifcoi 
\    respect  for  the  sacred  name  of  emperor.     The  necessiiy  foi 


Western 
Empire. 


Prefectures,  Diocesses. 

1.  Italy. 

I.  Italy.    \  2.  Illyria  (Pannunia,  etc.). 

3.  Africa. 

I\  Spain 

2.  Tlie  Gauls. 
3.  Britain. 


Each  of  these  diocesses  was  divided  mto  prov'iices,  of  wbich  in 
both  empires  iliere  were  one  hundred  and  seventeua  ;  and  the  pro- 
vinces into  cities. 

Imperial  Adminislratton. 

Household. — The  court  officers  were  :  tlie  Grand  Chamberlain  , 
two  Ca])iaiiis  of  the  Guard;  Master  of  the  Offices;  Qiiajstor  or 
Chancellor ;  Keeper  of  the  Privy  Purse  [comes  reruin  privatarum), 
whose  funciiuas  are  to  be  distinguished  from  those  of  the  Ministei 
of  the  public  treasury. 

Provincial  administration. — In  each  prefecture  a  Prefcctus  pre- 
torio,  at  tbe  bead  of  the  civil  administration.  In  each  diocess  u 
Vicar  of  tbe  prefect.  In  each  province  a  President.  Tbe  cities 
were  governed  by  Duumvirs  and  a  Defensor. 

Mililarij  organization. — After  tbe  Guards  and  Household  troops, 
ranked  tbe  legions  and  the  auxiliaries.  Tbese  were  commanded 
in  each  prefecture  by  a  Major  General  of  tbe  Militia  ;  a  command- 
er of  ibe  cavalry,  a  commander  of  tbe  infantry;  military  dukci' 
and  counts,  legionary  prefects,  etc. 

Judiciary. — Cafes  of  special  iinporta"ace  reset  vcd  for  the  emperoi 
wore  decided  by  tbe  quaestor;  ordinary  matters  by  various  magiS" 
iraies,  according  to  tl  eir  relative  magnitude.  An  appeal  lay  from 
tlie  defensor  .o  tbe  duumvirs,  from  tbe  duumvirs  to  tbe  president, 
from  the  presiJeit  to  the  vicar,  from  tbe  vicar  to  the  prefectus  pre 
torio. 

Finances. — Tiie  revenues  were  passed,  by  tbe  collectors  of  cities, 
into  tbe  bauds  of  tbe  provincial  receivers,  and  tbence,  tbrougb  a 
higher  grade  of  treasurers,  .o  tbe  minister  othe  public  treasury.  - 
Vid.  Dcs  Mic.hf.^s,  Hist,  d.i  Moyen  A^e. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  45 

'-sliiMishitig  some  tie  between  all  these  parts  of  the  Roman    \ 
vrorld  must  have  been  very  apparent  and  powerful,  otiierwise 
ive  can  hardly  conceive  how  the  spirit  of  despotism  could  sn     / 
easily  have  made  its  way  into  the  minds  and  almost  into  tho    / 
Rfloclions  of  the  people.  -.  / 


!♦.  was  with  this  spirit  with  this  administrative  organiza- 
l\in,  and  with  the  military  S3'stem  connected  with  it,  that  the 
Human  empire  struggled  against  the  dissolution  whi^h  was 
working  within  it,  and  against  the  barbarians  who  attacked  it 
from  without.  But,  though  it  struggled  long,  the  day  at  length' 
arrived  when  all  the  skill  and  power  of  despotism,  when  all 
the  pliancy  of  servitude,  was  insufficient  to  prolong  its  fate. 
In  the  fourth  century,  all  the  ties  wliich  had  held  this  innnense 
body  together  seem  to  have  been  loosened  or  snapped  ;  the 
barl)arians  broke  in  on  every  side  ;  the  provinces  no  longer 
resisted,  no  longer  troubled  themselves  with  the  general  des- 
tiny. A.t  this  crisis  an  extraordinary  idea  entered  the  minds 
of  one  or  two  of  the  emperors  :  they  wished  to  try  whether 
the  hope  of  general  liberty,  whether  a  confederation,  a  sys- 
tem something  like  what  we  now  call  the  representative  sys- 
tem, would  not  better  defend  the  Roman  empire  than  the  des- 
potic administration  which  already  existed.  There  is  a  man- 
date of  Honorius  and  the  younger  Theodosius,  addressed,  in 
the  year  418,  to  the  prefect  of  Gaul,  the  object  of  which  waa 
to  establish  a  sort  of  representative  government  in  the  south 
of  Gaul,  and  by  its  aid  still  to  preserve  the  unity  of  empire. 

Rescript  of  the  Emperors  Honorius  and  Theodosius  the  Younger^ 
■iddressed,  in  the  year  418,  to  the  Prefect  of  the  Gauls,  residing  at 
Aries. 

"Honorius  and  Theodosius,  Augusti,  to  Agricoli,  Prefect  of  the 
Gauls. 

"  In  consequence  of  the  very  salutary  representation  which  youi 
Magnificence  has  made  to  us,  as  well  as  upon  otiier  information 
obviously  advantageous  to  the  republtc,  we  decree,  in  order  that  they 
may  have  the  force  of  a  perpetual  law,  tiiat  the  followins;  regula- 
t  ons  should  be  made,  and  that  obedience  should  be  paid  to  them 
by  the  inliabitants  of  our  seven  province?,*  and  which  are  such  as 
tiey  themselves  should  wish  for  and  require.     Seeing  that  from 

*  Viount;,  the  two  Aciiutainea,  Noveropopolana,  the  two  Narbonnes^  and  tho  proviic* 
of  the  Maritime  A!p» 


IQ  GENERAL    HISTORY    Ok 

motives,  both  of  punlic  and  private  utility,  resfonsible  pers(  ^s  of 
special  deputies  should  be  seat,  not  only  by  each  province,  buv  bv 
each  city,  to  your  Magnilicence,  not  only  to  render  up  accounts,  hi  t 
also  to  treat  ol'  such  mailers  as  concern  the  bteresl  of  landed  pro- 
prietors,  we  have  judged  that  it   would   be  both  convenient  anl 
highly  advantageous  to  have  annually,  at  a  fixed  period,  and  U 
Ja'le  from  the  present  year,  an  assembly  for  the  inhabitants  of  th<? 
seven  provinces  iield  iii  the  Metropolis,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  city  d 
Aries.     By  this  institution  our  desire  is  to  piovide  both  for  public 
wid  private  interests.     First,  by  the  union  of  the  most  influential 
luhabiianis  in    the    presence  of  their   illustrious    Prefect,  (unless 
hi   should  be  absent  from  causes  alfecling  public  order,)  and  by 
theit  deliberations,  upon  every  subject  brought  before  them,  t.'ie 
best  possible  advice  will  be  obtained.     Nothing  which  shall  have 
been  treated  of  and  determined  upon,  after  a  mature  discussion, 
shall  be  kept  from  the  knowledge  of  the  rest  of  the  provinces;  and 
such  as  have  not  assisted  at  the  assenildy  shall  be  bound  to  foiiuw 
the  same  rules  of  justice  and  equity.     Furthermore,  by  ordaining 
that  an  assembly  should  be  held  every  year  in  the  city  of  Constan- 
line,*  we  believe  that  we  are  doing  not  only  what  will  be  advan- 
tageous to  the  public  welfare,  but  what  will  also  mulli[)ly  its  social 
refations.     Indeed,  this  city  is  so  favorably  situated,  foreigneis  re- 
bort  to  it  in  such  large  numbers,  and  it  possesses  so  extensive  a 
commerce,  that  all  the  varied  productions  and  manufactures  of  the 
lest  of  the  world  are  to  be  seen  within  it.    All  that  the  opulent  East, 
ihe   perfumed  Arabia,  the  delicate  Assyria,  the  fertile  Africa,  the 
beautiful  Spain,  and  the  courageous  Gaul,  produce  worthy  of  note, 
abound  here  in  such  profusion,  that  all  things  admired  as  magnificent 
in  the  dilTerent  parts  of  the  world  seem  the  productions  of  its  ovvn 
climate.     Further,  the  union  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Tuscan  sea  so 
lacilitate  intercourse,  that   the  countries  which  the  former  travei- 
ses,  and  ihe  laiter  waters  in  its  winding  course,  are  made  almost 
neighbors.     'I'iius,  as  the  whole  earth  yields  up  its  most  esteemed 
productions  lor  the  service  of  this  city,  as  the  particular  commodi- 
ties of  each  country  are  transported  to  it  by  land,  by  sea,  by  rivers, 
by  ships,  by  rafts,  by  wagons,  how  can  our  Gaul  fail  of  seeing  the 
great  benefit  we  confer  uptm  it  by  convoking  a  public  assembly  to 
beheld  in  this  city,  upon  which,  by  a  special  gift,  as  it  were,  of 
Divine  Providence,  has  been  showered  all  the  enjuyments  of  life, 
and  all  the  facilities  for  commerce  ? 

"  'JMie  illustrious  Prefect  Petroniusf  did,  some  time  ago,  with  & 
pmiseworlhy  and  enlightened  view,  ordain  .hat  this  custom  should 
le  observed ;  but  ls  its  practice  was  inteiTupted  by  the  Irouhlw 
y(  the  limes  and  the  reign  of  usurpers,  we  have  resolved  to  put  it 


♦  r!jnotamiio  the  Great  v  aa  iinsfularly  partiil  to  Ariel ;  it  wan  he  who  uiuli>  it  the 
it*.l  if  the  prefecture  of  the  Gauls  :  lie  desired  also  that  it  uhould  be  ix  his  uniue  ;  b«il 
jutl-iD)  was  more  |>oweiful  llian  his  wiJl. 

»  Pi-iU'niud  wu*  Prefect  of  the  Ga'ils  betwocu  402  ajid  408 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN     KUROl'E.,  47 

jgiiin  in  fyrco,  by  the  prudent  exercise  of  our  auihoniy.  Thus., 
tl.in,  dear  and  well-beloved  cousin  Agricoli,  your  Magnificence, 
conforming  to  oir  present  ordinance  and  the  custom  establislied  by 
jour  predecessors,  will  cause  the  following  regulations  to  be  ol>- 
served  in  the  provi'^ces: — 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  make  known  unto  all  persons  honored 
vith  public  functions  or  proprietors  of  domains,  and  to  all  thejudg 
es  o/  prrvinces,  that  they  must  attend  in  council  every  year  m  the 
city  of  A.rles,  between  tht  Ides  of  August  and  September,  the  day's 
of  corvccation  and  of  session  to  be  fixed  at  pleasure. 

"  Novempopulana  and  the  second  Aquilaine,  being  the  most  a  is- 
tant  provinces,  shall  have  the  power,  according  to  castotn,  to  send, 
if  ;heir  judges  should  be  detained  by  indispensable  duties,  deputit* 
in  their  stead. 

"Such  persons  as  neglect  to  attend  at  the  place  appointed,  and 
within  the  prescribed  period,  shall  pay  a  fine:  viz.,  judges,  five 
pounds  of  gold;  members  of  the  curiae  and  other  dignitaries,  three 
pounds.* 

"  By  this  measure  we  conceive  we  are  granting  great  advan- 
tages and  favor  to  the  inhabitants  of  our  provinces.  We  have  alsf 
the  certainty  of  adding  to  the  welfare  of  the  city  of  Aries,  to  tlic 
fidelity  of  which,  according  to  our  father  and  countryman,  we  owe 
so  mucli.t 

"Given  the  15th  of  the  calends  of  May;  received  at  Aries  the 
10th  of  the  calends  of  June." 

Notwithstanding  this  call,  the  provinces  and  cities  refused 
the  proffered  boon  ;  nobody  would  name  deputies,  noiic  would 
go  to  Aries.  This  centralization,  this  unity,  was  opposed  to 
the  primitive  nature  of  this  society.  The  spirit  of  locality, 
and  of  municipality,  everywhere  reappeared ;  the  impossi 
oility  of  reconstructing  a  general  society,  of  building  up  the 
whole  into  one  general  state,  became  evident.  The  cities 
confining  themselves  to  the  affcirs  of  their  own  corporations, 
shut  themselves  up  within  their  own  walls,  and  the  empirn 
rell,  hccatise  none  woidd  belong  to  the  empire  ;  because  citi 
rens  wished  but  to  belong  to  their  city.  Thus  the  Roman 
empire,  at  its  fall,  was  resolved  into  the  elements  of  whiclj 
it  had  been  composed,  and  the  preponderance  of  mmiicipa] 
rule  and  government  was   again  everywhere  visible.     The 


*  The  municipal  corps  of  ;he  Roman  cities  were  called  ctRl«,  ai>(1  tbr  niA-.r.licrB  ot 
the«e  jolics,  wl  1  »3re  verj  numerous,  ctiRiAi.es. 

t  CouiC.iutK.c  th«  Seci.af,  husbaud  of  Placidia,  wbon.  B,>iiaii-ig  hnj  t-tkcn  for  bU  co^ 
kB^-ar  in  4Vl 


48  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Ronitin  vvorld  uaJ  been  formed  of  cities,  and  to  cities  again  it 
relumed.* 

This  municipal  system  was  the  bequest  of  the  ancient  Roman 
civilization  to  mocern  Europe.  It  had  no  doubt  become  fee- 
ble, irreg\ilar,  and  very  inferior  to  what  it  had  been  at  an  ear- 
lier period  ;  but  it  was  the  only  living  principle,  the  only  one 
that  retained  any  form,  the  only  one  that  survived  the  general 
destruction  of  the  Roman  world. 

When  1  say  the  only  one,  I  mistake.  There  was  another 
phenomenon,  another  idea,  which  likewise  outlived  it.  I 
mean  the  remembrance  of  the  empire,  and  the  title  of  the  em- 
peror,— the  idea  of  imperial  majesty,  and  of  absolute  power 
attached  to  the  name  of  emperor.  It  must  be  observed, 
then,  that  the  two  elements  which  passed  from  the  Roman 
civilization  into  ours  were,  first,  the  system  of  munic'pal  cor- 
porations, its  habits,  its  regulations,  its  principle  of  libeii)  - 
a  general  civil  legislation,  common  to  all ;  secondly,  the  idea 
of  absolute  power  ; — the  principle  of  order  and  the  principlfl 
of  servitude. 


'  Meanwhile,  within  the  very  heart  of  Roman  society,  there 
had  grown  up  another  society  of  a  very  diHerent  nature, 
founded  upon  difTcrent  principbs,  unimated  by  dilTcrenl  sen- 
timents, and  which  has  brought  into  European  civilization 
elements  of  a  widely  different  character ;  I  speak  of  the 
Christian  r'lurch.  I  say  the  Christian  church,  and  not  Chris- 
tianity, between  which  a  broad  distinction  is  to  be  made.  At 
the  end  of  the  fourth  century,  and  the  beginning  of  the  fifth, 
Christianity  was  no  longer  a  simple  belief,  it  was  an  institu- 
tion— it  had  formed  itself  into  a  corporate  body.     It  had  its 

*  That  the  municipal  spirit  should  have  been  stronger  than  any 
more  general  sentiment  binding  the  citizens  to  the  empire,  was 
natural,  not  only  because  their  interests  were  more  immediately 
concerned  in  the  municipal  administration,  but  because  tiie  pcoph; 
had  some  voice  and  influence  in  the  government  of  the  cities,  while 
hey  had  none  in  the  general  government.  Though  the  municipal 
fna^isirates,  the  duumvirs  and  defensors,  were  a  part  of  that  vast 
chain  of  administrative  functionaries  proceeding  from  the  imperial 
throne,  and  linked  to  it,  yet  they  were  chosen  rrom  the  municipai 
6«Date  (decurions)  and  nominated  bv  the  people. 


CIVILl/IATION     IN     MODERN     f.UROPE.  40 

government,  a  body  of  priests ;  a  settled  ecclesiastical  polity 
ior  the  regulation  of  their  different  functions ;  revenues  ;  in 
Jcpoiident  means  of  influence.  It  had  the  rallying  pointa 
suitable  to  a  great  society,  in  its  provincial,  national,  and  ge:a 
oral  councils,  in  which  were  wont  to  be  debated  in  common 
the  adairs  of  society.  In  a  word,  the  Christian  religion,  a', 
this  epoch,  was  no  longer  merely  a  religion,  it  was  a  church 

Had  it  not  been  a  church,  it  is  hard  to  say  what  would 
ht-ve  been  its  fate  in  the  general  convulsion  which  attended 
the  overthrow  of  the  Roman  empire.  Looking  only  to  world- 
ly means,  putting  out  of  the  question  the  aids  and  superin- 
tending power  of  Divine  Providence,  and  considering  oidy  the 
natural  offec's  of  natural  causes,  it  would  bo  difficult  to  say 
how  Christianity,  if  it  had  continued  what  it  was  at  first,  a  mete 
belief,  an  individual  conviction,  could  havi  withstood  the 
shock  occa8ioned  by  the  dissolution  of  the  Roman  empire  and 
the  invasion  of  the  barbarians.  At  a  later  period,  when  it  had 
even  become  an  institution,  an  established  church,  it  fell  in 
Asia  and  the  North  of  Africa,  upon  an  invasion  of  a  like  kind 
— that  of  the  Mohammedans  ;  and  circumstances  seem  to  point 
out  that  it  was  still  more  likely  such  would  have  been  its  fate 
at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire.  At  this  time  there  existe(' 
none  of  those  means  by  which  in  the  present  day  moral  influ 
ences  become  established  or  rejected  without  the  aid  of  iusti 
tutions  ;  none  of  those  means  by  which  an  abstract  truth  nov^ 
makes  way,  gains  an  authority  over  mankind,  governs  their 
actions,  and  directs  their  movements.  Nothing  of  this  kind 
existed  in  the  fourth  century  ;  nothing  which  could  give  to  sim- 
ple ideas,  to  personal  opinions,  so  much  weight  and  power. 
Hence  I  think  it  may  be  assumed,  that  only  a  society  firmly 
established,  under  a  powerful  government  and  rules  of  disci- 
pline, could  hope  to  bear  up  amid  such  disasters — could  hope 
JO  weather  so  violent  a  storm.  I  think,  then,  humanly  speak' 
ing,  thai  it  is  not  too  much  to  aver,  that  in  the  fourth  and  fi'^th 
c«;niuries  it  was  the  Christian  church  that  saved  Christianity  ; 
that  it  was  the  Christian  church,  with  its  institutions,  iUs 
niagistiates,  its  authority — the  Christian  church,  which  strug- 
gled so  vigorously  to  prevent  the  interior  dissolution  of  the 
empire,  which  struggled  against  the  barbarian,  and  which,  in 
/act,  ovfircame  the  barbarian  ; — it  was  this  church,  I  say,  thai 
cooame  the  great  connecting  link — the  principle  of  civilization 
oclvveen  the  Roman  and  the  barbarian    world.     It  is  the  atati 


50  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

ol  ihe  church,  then,  rather  than  religion  strictly  undersiood,- 
rath<  r  than  that  pure  and  simple  faith  of  the  Gospel  which  all 
Irue  Dolicvers  nuist  regard  as  its  highest  triumph, — that  we 
must  looK.  at  in  the  fifth  century,  in  order  to  discover  what  influ- 
ence Chiistianity  had  from  this  time  upon  modern  civilization, 
and  what  are  the  elements  it  has  introduced  into  it. 

Let  us  sec  what  at  this  epoch  the  Christian  church  retlly 

wus. 

If  we  look,  still  in  an  entirely  worldly  point  of  view — if  wc 
look  ai  the  changes  which  Christianity  underwent  from  ite 
first  rise  to  the  fifth  century — if  we  examine  it,  (still,  I  re- 
repeat,  not  in  a  religious,  but  solely  in  a  political  sense,)  we 
shall  find  that  it  passed  through  three  essentially  diflercnt 
states. 

In  its  infancy,  in  its  very  babyhood.  Christian  society  pre- 
sents itself  before  us  as  a  simple  association  of  men  possess- 
ing the  same  faith  and  opinions,  the  same  sentiments  and  feel- 
ings. The  first  Christians  met  to  enjoy  together  their  conuiion 
emotions,  their  conmion  religious  convictions.  At  this  lime 
we  find  no  settled  form  of  doctrine,  no  settled  rules  of  disci- 
pluie,  no  body  of  magistrates. 

Still,  it  is  perfectly  obvious,  that  no  society,  however  young, 

(  however  feebly  held  together,  or  whatever  its  nature,  can  ex- 
ist without  some  moral  power  which  animates  and  guides  it ; 

\  and  thus,  in  the  various  Christian  congregations,  there  were 
men  who  preached,  who  taught,  who  morally  governed  the 
congregation.  Still  there  was  no  settled  magistrate,  no  dis- 
cipline ;  a  simple  association  of  believers  in  a  common  faith, 
with  common  sentiments  and  feelings,  was  the  first  condition 
of  Christian  society. 

But  the  moment  this  society  began  to  advance,  and  almost 
at  its  birth,  for  we  find  traces  of  them  in  its  earliest  documents 
there  gradually  became  moulded  a  form  of  doctrine,  rules  ofdis 
cipline,  a  body  of  magistrates  :  of  magistrates  called  npcaBirtpot 
Of  cWe/s,  who  afterwards  became  priests  ;  oi  iniaKoitoi,  inspect- 
ors or  overseers,  whu  became  bishops  ;  and  of  ii&Kovoi,  or  dea 
aons,  whoso  ofiicc  was  he  care  of  the  poor  and  the  distrihu 
tion  of  a'ms. 


ClVILrZATIOS'    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  D! 

.t  is  almost  im|i(fssihle  to  determine  tlie  precise  functions 
»l  these  m;igistr;ifes  ;  tlie  line  of  demarcation  was  prjbably 
»ery  vague  and  wavering;  yet  here  was  the  embryo  of  insti 
(dtions.  Still,  however,  there  was  one  prevailing  cliaractei 
!i!  this  second  epoch  :  it  vva!>  that  the  power,  the  authority 
the  preponderating  influence,  still  remained  in  the  hands  of 
the  general  body  of  believers.  It  was  they  who  decided  is 
tho  election  of  magistrates,  as  well  as  in  the  adoption  of  rule? 
i)f  discipline  and  doctrine.  No  separation  had  as  yet  taken 
place  between  the  Christian  government  and  the  Christian 
people  ;  neither  as  yet  existed  apart  from,  or  indepcndentlj 
of,  the  other,  and  it  was  still  the  great  body  of  Christian  be- 
lievers who  exercised  the  principal  influence  in  the  society.' 

In  the  third  period  all  this  was  entirely  changed.  Tho\ 
clergy  were  separated  from  the  people,  and  now  formed  a  \ 
distinct  body,  with  its  own  wealth,  its  own  jurisdiction,  its  I 
own  constitution;  in  a  word,  it  had  its  own  government,  and  ) 
formed  a  complete?  society  of  itself, — a  society,  too,  provided  / 
with  all  the  means  of  existence,  independently  of  the  society  / 
to  which  it  applied  itself,  and  over  which  it  extended  its  in- 
fluence.    This  was  the  third  state  of  the  Christian  church, 


5  It  is  fair  to  say  that  this  and  the  preceding  paragraphs  touch 
upon  several  disputed  points.  Contrary  to  the  assertions  here 
made,  it  has  by  many  been  always  strongly  maintained  that  frona 
the  outset  not  only  were  there  Christians,  but  there  was  a  Church  ; 
not  only  "a  simple  association  of  belie\ers,"  but  an  organized 
body  ;  and  that  the  con  litution,  government,  and  main  rules  of 
discipline  of  the  church  were  distinctly  and  even  divinely  settled; 
and  that  the  determination  of  none  of  thes^^  things  was  ever  left  to 
the  popular  voice  or  will  of  "  the  great  body  of  Christian  believers." 

At  the  same  time  it  is  admitted  by  those  who  hold  this  view, 
that  from  and  after  the  time  of  Constantine,  the  original  constitu- 
tion of  the  church,  without  being  destroyed,  was  overlaid  by  a  vast 
body  of  human  additions,  ^articularly  by  the  hierarchy,  or  long 
gradation  of  ecclesiastical  dignities  and  powers  rising  upward  from 
the  prmiitive  bishop  to  the  patriarch,  and  that  by  these  and  other 
lesults  of  the  alliance  of  Christianity  with  the  empire,  the  simpli- 
city of  the  church  was  corrupted,  its  purity  endangered,  and  the 
primitive  relations  of  t.ie  clergy  and  people  injuriously  ^HTected. 

In  th  s  view,  therefore,  the  general  correclners  of  the  author's  re- 
inarks  in  regard  to  the  state  of  the  church  in  what  he  terms  th< 
•third  period"  will  be  admitted,  even  by  those  who  may  questiof 
Jie  justness  of  his  preceding  statementH. 
4 


52  GENkRAL     H  STORY     OP 

and  in  this  state  it  existed  at  the  opening  of  the  hlih  cernii-v 
The  government  wus  not  yet  completely  separated  from  tin 
people  ;  for  no  such  govenimenl  as  yet  existed,  and  less  so  io 
religious  matters  than  in  any  other ;  but,  as  respects  the  re- 
lation between  the  clergy  and  Christians  in  geuer-il  it  was 
»ll3  clergy  who  governed,  and  governed  almost  without  control 


/  Bi:t,  besides  the  influence  which  the  clergy  deri\ed  froir 
'^ their  spiritual  functions,  they  possessed  considerable  power 
over  society,  from  their  having  become  chief  magisi rates  in 
the  city  corporations.  We  have  already  seen,  that,  strictly 
speaking,  nothing  had  descended  from  the  Roman  empire,  ex- 
cept its  municipal  system.  Now  it  had  fallen  out  that  by  the 
vexations  of  despotism',  and  the  ruin  of  the  cities,  the  curiales, 
or  officers  of  the  corporations,  had  sunk  into  insignificance 
and  inanity ;  while  the  bishops  and  the  great  body  of  the 
clergy,  full  of  vigor  and  zeal,  were  naturally  prepared  to  guide 
and  watch  over  them.  It  is  not  fair  to  accuse  the  clergy  of 
^asurpation  in  this  matter,  for  it  fell  out  according  to  the  com- 
mon course  of  events :  the  clergy  alone  possessed  moral 
strength  and  activity,  and  the  clergy  everywhere  succeeded 
to  power — such  is  the  common  law  of  the  universe. 

The  change  which  had  taken  place  in  this  respect  shows 
Itself  in  every  part  of  the  legislation  of  the  Roman  Emperors 
at  this  period.  In  opening  the  Theodosian  and  Justinian  codes, 
we  find  innumerable  enactments,  which  place  the  management 
of  the  municipal  affnirs  in  the  hands  of  the  clergy  and  bishops. 
I  shall  cite  a  (ew. 

Cod.  Just.,  L.  I.,  tit.  iv.,  De  Epxscofilt  audientta,  ^  26. — With 
regard  to  the  yearly  afl'airs  of  the  cities,  (wliclher  as  rcspucls  the 
ordinary  city  revenues,  the  funds  arising  from  ilie  city  estates,  from 
legacies  or  particular  gifts,  or  from  any  other  source;  whether  as 
respects  the  management  of  liie  public  works,  of  the  magazines  oi 
irovisions,  of  the  aqueducts ;  of  the  maintenance  of  the  public  bathfj 
*.he  ciiy  gates,  of  the  building  of  walls  or  towers,  the  repairing  o1 
nidges  and  roads,  or  of  any  lawsuit  in  which  the  city  miy  be  engageii 
on  account  of  public  or  private  interests,)  we  ordain  as  follows: — 
The  right  reverend  bishop,  and  three  men  of  gooJ  report,  front 
jmong  the  chiefs  of  the  city,  shall  assemble  togetiicr;  every  yeai 
<hey  shall  examine  the  works  done;  they  shall  take  care  that  thos" 
'irlio  conduct,  or  have  conducted  them,  measure  them  correctly, 
L'lve  a  true  ai;couni  of  them,  and  cause  it  to  be  seen  thai  they  hav< 
adfilled  ibeii  contraclf    wneiher  in  the  care  of  the  public  mono 


CIVILIZAIION     IN     MODERN    EUROPE  53 

fltifnts,  in  the  moneys  expended  in  provisions  and  the  p  ibKc  hatha, 
of  all  thai  is  expended  for  the  repairs  of  the  roads,  aqueducts,  and 
all  other  matters. 

Ibid.,  ^  30. — With  respect  to  the  guardianship  of  youth,  of  th^~\ 
first  and  second  age,  and  of  all  those  to  whom  the  law  gives  euro-    \ 
tors,  if  their  fortune  is  not  more  than  5000  aurei,  we  ordain    thut     \ 
the  nomination  of  the  president  o"  the  province  should  not  be  wait' 
pci  for,  on  account  of  the  great  expense  it  would  occasion,  especially 
if  the  president  should  not  reside  in  the  city    in  which  it  becomea      I 
necessary  to  provide  for  the  guardianship.     I'he  nomination  of  the     / 
curators  or  tutors  shall,  in  this  case,  be  made  by  the  magistrate  of     [ 
(he  city  ....  in  concert  with  the  right  reverend  bishop  and  othei     ! 
persons  invested  with  public  authority,  if  more  than  one  should  re- 
side in  the  city. 

Ibtd.,  L.  I.,  tit.  v.,  De  Defensorihus,  ^  8. — We  desire  tlic  defend- 
ers of  cities,  well  instructed  in  the  holy  mysteries  of  the  orthodox 
faith,  should  be  chosen  and  instituted  into  their  office  by  the  rever- 
end bishops,  the  clerks,  notables,  proprietors,  and  the  curiales. 
With  regard  to  their  installation,  it  must  be  committed  to  the  glo- 
rious pow?r  of  the  prefects  of  the  praetorium,  in  order  that  their 
authority  should  have  all  the  stability  and  weight  which  the  letters 
of  admission  granted  by  his  Magnificence  are  likely  to  give. 

I  could  cite  numerous  other  laws  to  the  same  effect,  and  in 
all  of  them  you  would  see  this  one  fact  very  strikingly  pre- 
vail:  namely,  that  between  the  Roman  municipal  system,  and 
that  of  the  free  cities  of  the  middle  ages,  there  intervened  an 
ecclesiastical  municipal  system ;  the  preponderance  of  the 
clergy  in  the  management  of  the  affairs  of  the  city  corpora- 
tions succeeded  to  that  of  the  ancient  Roman  municipal  ma- 
gistrates, and  paved  the  way  for  the  organization  of  our  mo- 
dern free  communities. 

It  will  at  once  be  seen  what  an  amazing  accession  of  power 
the  Christian  church  gained  by  these  means,  not  only  in  its 
own  peculiar  circ  e,  by  its  increased  influence  on  the  body  of      : 
Christians,  but  also  by  the  part  which  it  took  in  temporal  mat- 
ters.     And  it  is  from  this  period  we  should  date  its  powerful     j 
co-operation  in  the   advance   3f  modern   civilization,  and  the     \ 
extensive  influence  it  has   had   upon   its  character.     Let  u..'    I 
briefly  run  over  the  advantages  which  it  introduced  into  it.        | 

And,  first,  it  was  of  immense  advantage  to  European  ciWI- 
iration  that  a  moral  influence,  a  moral  power — a  power  resi- 
ing  entirely  upon  moral  convictions,  upon  moral  opinions  and 
fenliments — should  have  estal  lished  itself  in  society,  just  a( 
hie  period,  whon  it  seemed  upon  the  point  of  being  crushed 


64  UENEKAL    HISTORY     OF 

by  the  o\erwhelin:ng  physical  force  whicli  hail  tuken  pos- 
session of  it.  Had  not  the  Cliristian  church  at  this  time,  ev 
(Sted,  the  whole  world  must  have  fallen  a  prey  to  more  brutf 
force.  The  Cnristian  church  alone  possessed  a  moral  power  , 
It  maintained  and  pronuilgaled  the  idea  of  a  precept,  of  a  law 
Buperior  to  all  human  authority  ;  it  proclaimed  that  great  truth 
which  forms  the  only  foundation  of  our  hope  for  humanity ; 
namely,  .hat  there  exists  d  law  above  all  human  law,  which, 
by  whatever  name  it  may  be  called,  whether  reason,  the  Ia« 
of  God,  or  what  not,  is,  in  all  times  and  in  all  places,  t)ie  same 
law  under  diflerent  names. 

Finally,  the  church  commenced  an  undertaking  of  great 
importance  to  society — I  mean  the  separation  of  temporal  and 
^  spiritual  authority.  This  separation  is  the  only  true  source 
of  liberty  of  conscience  ;  it  was  based  upon  no  other  princi- 
ple than  that  which  serves  as  the  groundwork  for  the  stiictesl 
and  most  extensive  liberty  of  conscience.  The  separation  of 
temporal  and  spiritual  power  rests  solely  upon  the  idea  that 
physical,  that  brute  force,  has  no  right  or  authority  over  the 
mind,  over  convictions,  over  truth.  It  flows  from  the  dis- 
tinction established  between  the  world  of  thought  and  tlio 
world  of  action,  between  our  inward  and  intellectual  nature 
and  the  outward  world  around  us.  So  that,  however  paro- 
doxical  it  may  seem,  that  very  principle  of  liberty  of  conscience 
for  which  Europe  has  so  long  struggled,  so  much  suflered, 
which  has  only  so  late  y  prevailed,  and  that,  in  many  instances, 
against  the  will  of  the  clergy, — that  very  principle  was  acted 
upon  under  the  name  of  a  separation  of  the  temporal  and  spiritual 
power,  in  the  infancy  of  European  civilization.  It  was,  more- 
over, the  Christian  church  itself,  driven  to  assert  it  by  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  it  was  placed,  as  a  means  of  defence 
against  barbarism,  that  introduced  and  maintained  it 

The  establishment,  then,  of  a  moral  influence,  the  mainto 
nance  of  this  divine  law,  and  the  separation  of  temporal  and 
^ipi  ritual  power,  may  be  enumerated  as  the  groat  benefiln 
which  the  Christian  church  extended  to  European  society  in 
the  fifth  century. 

I       Unfortunately,  all  its   influences,  even  at  this  period,  wer«; 

I    r.ot  equally  beneficial.     Already,  even  before  the  close  of  the 

\   fifth  century,  we  discover  some  of  those   vicious  principles 

which  have  had  so  baneful  an  ell'ect  on  the  advancement  o^ 


CIVILIZATION    IN     MODERN    EUROPE.  55 

oiir  ch  ilization.  There  already  prevailed  in  the  bosom  of  the 
church  a  desire  to  separate  the  governing  and  the  governecl> 
The  attempt  was  thus  early  made  to  render  the  governinen. 
entirely  independent  of  the  people  under  its  authorn}  -co  take 
p»(sscssion  of  their  mind  and  life,  without  the  conviction  of 
their  reason  or  tlie  consent  of  their  will.  The  church,  more 
:iver,  endeavored  with  all  her  might  to  establish  the  principle 
of  theocracy,  to  usurp  temporal  authority,  to  obtain  universal 
dominion.  And  when  she  failed  in  this,  when  she  found  she 
could  not  obtain  absolute  power  for  herself,  she  did  what  was 
almost  as  bad:  to  obtain  a  share  of  it,  she  leagued  herself 
with  temporal  rulers,  and  enforced,  with  all  her  might,  their 
claim  to  absolute  power  at  the  expense  of  the  liberty  of  tht 
subject. 

Such  then,  I  think,  were  the  principal  elements  of  civiliza- 
tion which  Europe  derived,  in  the  fifth  century,  from  the 
Churcli  and  from  the  Roman  empire.  Such  was  the  state  of 
the  Roman  world  when  the  barbarians  came  to  make  it  theii 
prey  ;  and  we  have  now  only  to  study  the  barbarians  them- 
selves, in  order  to  be  acquainted  with  the  elements  which 
were  united  and  mixed  together  in  the  cradle  of  our  civilisa- 
tion. 

It  must  be  here  understood  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  history  of  the  barbarians.  It  is  enough  for  our  purpose 
to  know,  that  wi  h  the  exception  of  a  few  Slavonian  tribes, 
such  as  the  Alans,  they  were  all  of  the  same  German  origin  : 
and  that  they  were  all  in  pretty  nearly  the  same  state  of  civili- 
zation. It  is  true  that  some  little  difference  might  exist  in 
this  respect,  accordingly  as  these  nations  had  more  or  less 
intercourse  with  the  Roman  world  ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  but 
the  Goths  had  made  a  greater  progress,  and  had  become  more 
r«3fined  than  the  Franks  ;  but  in  a  general  point  of  view,  and 
with  regard  to  the  matter  before  us,  these  little  diflerences  are 
of  no  consc(iuence  whatever. 

A  general  notion  of  the  state  of  society  among  the  barba- 
rians, such,  at  least,  as  will  enable  us  to  judge  of  what  they 
have  contributed  towards  modern  civilization,  is  all  that  we 
require.  This  information,  small  as  it  may  appear,  it  is  now 
Ahnost  impossible  to  obtain.  Respecting  the  municipal  sys- 
tem of  the  Romans  and  the  state  of  the  Church  we  may  form 


56  GENERAL    HISTOR\     OF 

a  tolerally  accurate  idea.  Their  influence  has  lasted  to  ll»e 
present  times  ;  we  have  vestiges  of  them  in  many  of  our  in^ 
stitutions,  and  possess  a  thousand  means  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  them ;  but  the  maimers  and  social  state  of  tbt 
barbarians  have  completely  perished,  and  we  are  driven  U) 
conjecture  what  tney  were,  either  from  a  very  few  eucicnl 
nistorical  remains,  or  by  an  efi'ort  of  the  imagination. 

There  is  one  sentiment  one  in  particular,  which  it  is 
Dccessary  to  understand  before  we  can  form  a  true  picture  of 
8  barbarian;  it  is  the  pleasure  of  personal  indepcndonce — the 
pleasure  of  enjoying,  in  full  force  and  liberty,  all  his  powers 
in  the  various  ups  and  downs  of  fortune  ;  the  fondness  for 
activity  without  labor;  for  a  life  of  enterprise  and  adventure. 
Such  was  the  prevailing  character  and  disposition  of  the  bar- 
barians ;  such  were  the  moral  wants  which  put  these  immense 
masses  of  men  into  motion.  It  is  extremely  difhcult  for  us, 
in  the  regidated  society  in  which  we  move,  to  form  anything 
like  a  correct  idea  of  this  feeling,  and  of  the  influence  which 
it  exercised  upon  the  rude  barbarians  of  the  fourth  and  Hfth 
centuries.  There  is,  however,  a  history  of  the  Norman  con- 
quest of  England,  written  by  M.  Thierry,  in  which  the  char- 
acter and  disposition  of  the  barbarian  are  depicted  with  nmch 
life  and  vigor.  In  this  admirable  work,  the  motives,  tht;  incli- 
nations and  impulses  that  stir  men  into  action  in  a  state  of  life 
bordering  on  the  savage,  have  been  felt  and  described  in  a 
truly  masterly  manner.  There  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found 
80  correct  a  likeness  of  what  a  barbarian  was,  or  of  his  course 
of  life.  Something  of  the  same  kind,  but,  in  my  opinion, 
much  inferior,  is  found  in  the  novels  of  Mr.  Cooper,  in  which 
he  depicts  the  manners  of  the  savages  of  America.  In  these 
scenes,  in  the  sentiments  and  social  relations  whicli  tiiese 
savages  hold  in  the  midst  of  their  forests,  there  is  unquestion- 
ably something  which,  to  a  certain  point,  calls  up  before  us 
the  manners  of  the  ancient  Germans.  No  doubt  these  pic 
lures  are  a  little  imagiiiative,  a  little  poetical  ;  the  worst  fea 
tures  in  the  life  and  manners  of  the  barbarians  are  not  given 
in  all  their  naked  coarseness.  I  allude  not  merely  to  the  evils 
wliich  these  manners  forced  into  the  social  condition,  but  to 
the  inward  individual  condition  of  the  barbarian  himself 
There  is  in  this  passionate  desire  for  personal  indepenJence 
something  of  a  grosser,  more  material  character  than  wt 
»«hould  suppose  from  the   work  of  M.  Tluerry ;   a  dcjjree  ol 


CIVILIZATION    IN    AODEKS    EUROPE.  ^7 

brutality,  of  headstrong  passion,  of  apathy,  which  we  do  nd 
discover  in  his  details.  Still,  notwithstanding  this  alloy  of 
l)rutal  and  stupid  selfishness,  there  is,  if  we  look  more  pro- 
foundly  into  the  matter,  something  of  a  noble  and  moral  char- 
acter, in  this  taste  for  independence,  which  seems  to  derive 
its  power  from  our  moral  nature.  It  is  the  pleasure  of  feeling 
one's  self  a  man  ;  the  sentiment  of  personality  ;  of  human 
qpontaneity  in  its  unrestricted  development. 

It  was  the  rude  barbarians  of  Germany  who  introduced  this 
Bentiinent  of  personal  independence,  this  love  of  individual 
liberty,  into  European  civilization  ;  it  was  unknown  among 
the  Romans,  it  was  unknown  in  the  Christian  Church,  it  waa 
unknown  in  nearly  all  the  civilizations  of  antiipiity.  The 
liberty  which  we  meet  with  in  ancient  civilizations  is  politi- 
cal liberty  ;  it  is  the  liberty  of  the  citizen.  It  was  not  about 
his  personal  liberty  that  man  troubled  himself,  it  was  about 
his  liberty  as  a  citizen.  He  formed  part  of  an  association, 
and  to  tliis  alone  he  was  devoted.  The  case  was  the  same 
in  the  Christian  Church.  Among  its  members  a  devoted  at- 
tachment to  the  Christian  body,  adevotedness  to  its  laws,  and 
an  earnest  zeal  for  the  extension  of  its  empire,  were  every- 
where  conspicuous  ;  the  spirit  of  Christianity  wrought  a 
change  in  the  moral  character  of  man,  opposed  to  this  prin- 
ciple of  independence  ;  for  under  its  influence  his  mind  strug- 
gled to  extinguish  its  own  liberty,  and  to  deliver  itself  up  en-  <^ 
ij>-ely  to  the  dictates  of  his  faith.  But  the  feeling  of  person  n 
dl  independence,  a  fondness  for  genuine  liberty  displaying  it 
self  withou*  regard  to  consequences,  and  with  scarcely  any 
other  aim  uian  its  own  satisfaction — this  feeling,  I  repeat,  was 
unknown  to  the  Romans  and  to  the  Christians.  We  are  in- 
debted for  it  to  the  barbarians,  who  introduced  it  into  Euro- 
pean civilization,  in  which,  from  its  first  rise,  it  has  played  so 
considerable  a  part,  and  has  produced  such  lasting  and  bene  . 
ficial  results,  that  it  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  its  fundamen-  y 
tal  principles,  and  » ould  not  be  passed  without  notice. 

There  is  another  a  second  element  of  civlization,  which  \\ 
wo  likewise  inherit  from  the  barbarians  alone  :  I  mean  mill-  jj 
I'iry  oatronage,  the  tie  which  became  formed  between  indivi- 
luals,  between  warriors,  and  which,  without  destroying  the 
liberty  of  any,  without  even  destroying  in  the  commencement 
the  equality  up  to  a  certain  point  which  existed  between  them, 
laid  'he  foundation  of  a  graduated  subordination,  and  was  thf 


>8  OEXERAL    HISTORY    OP 

/  origin  of  that  aristocratical  organization  -vhich,  at  a  liter  p»> 
/    riod,  grew  into  the  feudal  system.  The  gorm  of  th's  coimexiou 
was  the  attachment  of  man  to  man ;  the  fidelity  whicli  united 
individuals,  without  apparent  necessity,  without  any  obliga- 
tion arising  from  the  general  principles  of  society.     In  none 
of  the  ancient  republics  do  you  see  any  example  of  individuala 
particularly  and  freely  attached  to  other  individuals.     They 
were  all  attached  to  the  city.     Among  the  barbarians  this  tio 
I      was  formed  between  man  and  man ;  first  by  the  relationship 
I     of  companion  and  chief,  when  they  came  in  bands  to  overrun 
p  Europe  ;  and  at  a  later  period,  by  the  relationship  of  sovereign 
/    and  vassal.    This  second  principle,  which  has  had  so  vast  an 
'/'(     influence  in  the  civilization  of  modern  Europe — this  devoted- 
11  ^     ness  of  man  to  man — came  to  us  entirely  from  our  German 
'"^  (    ancestors  ;    it  formed  part  of  their  social  system,  and  was 
adopted  into  ours. 


Lot  mo  now  ask  if  I  was  not  fully  justified  in  stating,  as  1 
did  at  the  outset,  that  modern  civilization,  even  in  its  infancy, 
was  diversified,  agitated,  and  confused  ?  Is  it  not  true  that 
we  find  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empjre  nearly  all  the  ele- 
ments which  are  met  with  in  the  progressive  career  of  our 
civilization  \  We  have  found  at  this  epoch  three  societies  all 
difl'erent ;  first,  municipal  society,  the  last  remains  of  the  Ro- 
man empire  ;  secondly.  Christian  society ;  and  lastly,  barba- 
rian society.  We  find  these  societies  very  difl'erently  organ- 
ized ;  founded  upon  principles  totally  opposite  ;  inspiring  men 
with  sentiments  altogether  difierent.  We  find  the  love  of  the 
most  absolute  independence  by  the  side  of  the  most  devoted 
submission  ;  military  patronage  by  the  side  of  ecclesiastical 
domination  ;  spiritual  power  and  temporal  power  everywhere 
together  ;  the  canons  of  the  church,  the  learned  legislation  of 
the  Ronrans,  the  almost  unwritten  customs  of  the  barbarians; 
everywhere  a  mixture  or  rather  co-existence  of  nations,  of 
languages,  of  social  situations,  of  maimers,  of  ideas,  of  impres- 
sions, the  most  diversified.  These,  I  think,  afford  a  sulHcieitJ 
proof  of  the  truth  of  the  general  character  which  I  have  ea- 
deaviirod  to  picture  of  oui  civilizatior. 

There  is  no  denying  that  we  owe  to  this  confusion,  this 
diversity,  this  tossing  an  I  jostling  of  elements,  the  slow  pro- 
gress of  Europe,  the  storfus  by  which  slie  has  been  buffeted, 
tlie  miseries  to  wliicb  ofttimes  she  has  been  a  pr'jy      but 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  59 

lM)wevei  dear  these  have  cost  us,  we  must  not  regard  thoin 
with  uinniiiylcd  regret.  In  nations,  as  well  as  in  individuals 
the  good  fortune  to  have  all  the  faculties  called  into  action,  so 
as  to  ensure  a  full  and  free  development  of  the  various  powers 
both  of  mind  and  body,  is  m  advantage  not  too  dearly  paiil 
for  by  the  labor  and  pain  with  which  it  is  attended.  What 
we  might  call  the  hard  fortune  of  European  civilization — the 
rouble,  the  toil  it  has  undergone — the  violence  it  has  suflered 
in  iis  course — have  been  of  infinitely  more  service  to  the  pro 
^css  of  humanity  than  that  tranquil,  smooth  simplicity,  in 
which  other  civilizations  have  run  their  course.  I  shall  now 
halt.  In  the  rude  sketch  which  I  have  drawn,  1  trust  you  wiP 
recognise  the  general  features  of  the  world  such  as  it  appear 
3d  upon  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  as  well  as  the  various 
blements  which  conspired  and  mingled  together  to  give  birth 
lO  European  civilization.  Henceforward  these  will  move  and 
ict  under  our  notice.  We  shall  next  put  these  in  motion,  and 
Ree  how  they  work  together.  In  the  next  lecture  1  shall  en- 
deavor to  show  what  they  became  and  what  they  performed  iv, 
the  epoch  which  is  called  the  Barbarous  Period;  that  is  to 
say,  the  period  during  which  the  chaos  of  invasion  continued.' 

'  The  remarkable  crisis,  when  the  Romans  and  the  barbarians 
were  contending  for  the  empire  of  the  world,  should  be  well  com- 
piehended  by  lue  student.  Gibbon  will  furnish  the  history  :  Caesar 
and  Tacitus  are  the  original  sources  for  a  knowledge  of  the  German 
character.  It  was  a  struggle  between  civilization  and  barbarism: 
the  latter  triumphed  ;  the  Dark  Ages  were  the  result. 

Frequent  border  wars  had  been  maintained  with  the  Germans 
on  the  Rhine  from  the  time  of  Julius  Caesar,  when  the  conquee; 
of  Gaul  had  extended  the  bounds  of  the  empire  to  that  river. 

But  after  the  time  of  Caracalla,  212,  the  conflict  became  inces- 
sant :  new  tribes  of  Germans  began  to  appear  and  press  upon  thf 
frontier,  making  continual  predatory  irrufitions  into  the  Roman  ter- 
ritory, but  efTecting  no  pv.'rmanent  establishment. 

At  length,  in  376,  'he  Huns,  entering  Europe  from  northern  Asia, 
aubdiicd  or  drove  before  them  the  Sclavonian  and  Gothic  tribes, 
precipitated  the  Visigoths  across  the  Danube  wit.hin  the  limits  of 
the  lioman  Empire. 

Then  began  the  struggle  for  the  empire.  Wave  followed  wave 
Si  the  great  migration  of  nations — a  movement  which  continued  to 
roil  tumulluously  over  Europe  for  more  than  three  centuries  afiei 
the  downfall  of  the  Western  Empire. 

Tlu  various  tribes  of  barbarians  wnose  names  appear  m  thf!  hi* 
tory  ol  this  period  belonged  to  three  distinct  races* 


30  6ENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION 

1.  The  Scythian — comprising  the  Huns,  the  Alani,  Avan,  Bul- 
garians, Hungarians,  Turks,  and  Tariars. 

2.  The  Sciavoniaii — to  which  belcnged  the  Bosnians,  the  Sei 
rians,  Croatians,  etc.;  the  Wendi,  foles,  Bohemians,  Moravians 
Pomeranians,  Wiltsians,  Lusatians,  etc.;  the  Livonians  and  Lithu 
anians. 

3.  The  German — including  the  Alemanni,  a  confederation  ol 
tribes  of  which  the  Suevi  were  the  chief;  the  Bavarians,  Mar 
comanni,  Quadi,  Hermunduri,  Heruli ;  the  Gepidai,  the  Goths 
the  Francs,  the  Prisons ;  the  Vandals,  Burgundians,  Rugii,  Lom- 
bards; the  Angli,  and  Saxons. 

The  final  exlinction  of  the  Roman  Empire  of  lit  West  is  dated 
m  476,  when  the  imperial  throne  was  subverted  by  Odoacer,  lead- 
er of  the  mixed  multitude  of  barbarian  auxiliaries.  But  it  should  be 
remembered  that  previous  to  this  event  Rume  had  been  twice  taken 
and  sacked,  first  by  Alaric  and  the  Visigoths  in  4 10,  next  by  Genseric 
and  the  Vandals  in  455;  and  that /our  barbarian  kingdoms  had 
been  established  within  the  limits  of  the  empire :  the  kingdom  of 
the  Burgundians  in  413  ;  of  the  Suevi  in  419  ;  of  the  Visigoths  in 
419;  of  Carthage  by  llie  Vandals  in  439. 

In  493  the  power  of  Odoacer  was  deoiroyed,  and  the  Ostro- 
Gothic  kingdom  of  Italy  established  by  Thecjdoric  the  Great. 

Thus,  before  the  end  of  the  fifth  century,  the  Vandals  were  mas- 
ters of  Africa  ;  the  Suevi,  of  a  part  of  Spain  ;  the  Visigoths  of  the 
rest,  together  with  a  large  part  of  Gaul ;  ihe  Burgundians  of  that 
part  of  Gaul  lying  on  the  Rhone  and  Saone ;  the  Ostro-Guths  of 
nearly  all  Italy;  while  the  Francs  under  Clovis  had  begun  (481 
— 496)  the  career  of  conquest,  which  in  the  next  and  following  cen- 
turies resulted  in  the  overthrow  of  those  kingdoms,  the  esiahlish- 
iu»?nt  of  the  Frankish  Jominion,  and  the  formation  for  a  time  of  a 
Dew  oeoln?  of  gravity  .or  Europe  under  Charlemagno. 


LECTURE  III. 

3F     POMTICAL   LEGITIMACY CO-EXISTENCE    OF   ALL    THE  ftV» 

TKMS  OF  OOVERNMENT  IN  THE  FIFTH  CENTURY —ATTEMI'Tfi 
10    REOkOANIZE    SOCIETY. 

In  my  last  lecture,  I  brought  you  to  what  may  he  called  the 
porch  to  the  history  of  modern  civilization.  1  briefly  placed 
before  you  the  primary  elements  of  European  civilization,  as 
found  when,  at  the  dissolution  of  the  Roman  empire,  it  was  yet 
in  its  cradle.  I  endeavored  to  give  you  a  preliminary  sketch 
of  their  diversity,  their  continual  struggles  with  each  other, 
and  to  show  you  that  no  one  of  them  succeeded  in  obtaining 
tlie  mastery  in  our  social  system  ;  at  least  such  a  mastery  as 
would  imply  the  complete  subjugation  or  expulsion  of  the 
others.  We  have  seen  that  these  circumstances  form  the  dis- 
tinguishing character  of  European  civilization.  We  will  to- 
day begin  the  history  of  its  childhood  in  what  is  commonly 
called  the  dark  or  middle  age,  the  age  of  barbarism. 

It  is  impossible  for  us  not  to  be  struck,  at  the  first  glance  at 
this  period,  with  a  fact  which  seems  quite  contradictory  to  th« 
siatoineni  we  have  just  made.  No  sooner  do  we  seek  for  in- 
formation respecting  the  opinions  that  have  been  formed  rela- 
tive to  the  ancient  condition  of  modern  Europe,  than  we  find 
that  the  various  elements  of  imr  civilization,  that  is  to  say, 
monarchy,  theocracy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy,  each  would 
have  us  believe  that  originally,  European  society  belonged  to 
i>  alone,  and  that  it  i?as  only  lost  the  power  it  then  possessed 
by  the  usurpation  of  the  other  elements.  Examine  all  that  haa 
been  written,  all  that  has  been  said  on  this  sul>ject,  and  you 
will  find  that  every  author  who  has  attempted  to  build  up  a 
•ystem  which  should  represent  or  explain  our  origin,  has 
isserled  the  exclusive  predominance  of  one  or  other  of  these 
elements  of  European  civilization. 

First,  there  is  the  school  of  civilians,  attached  to  the  feu- 
lal  system,  among  whom  we  may  mention  Boulainvilliers  as 


S2 


'iENERAL    HISTORY    OF 


Hit  most  celebrated,  who  boldly  asserts,  that,  at  ihe  downfall 
of  tlie  Roman  empire,  it  was  the  conquering  nation,  forminj^ 
afterwards  the  nobility,  who  alone  possessed  authority,  oi 
right,  or  power.  Society,  it  is  said,  was  their  domain,  of 
which  kin/{.s  and  people  have  since  despoiled  them  ;  antf 
hence,  llie  aristocratic  organization  is  -Ulirmed  to  have  boec 
in  Europe  the  primitive  and  genuine  form. 

Next  to  this  school  we  may  place  he  advocates  of  monar- 
chy, the  Abbe  Dubois,  for  example,  v^ho  maintains,  on  the. 
other  side,  that  it  was  to  royalty  that  E-iropean  society  be- 
longed According  to  him,  the  German  kings  succeeded  to 
all  the  rights  of  the  lU/man  emperors  ;  they  were  even  invited 
in  by  the  ancient  nations,  among  others  by  the  Gauls  and  Sax- 
ons ;  tliey  alone  possessed  legitimate  authority,  and  all  the 
conquests  of  the  aristocracy  were  only  so  many  encroach- 
ments upon  the  power  of  the  monarchs. 

The  liberals,  republicans,  or  democrats,  whichever  you  may 
choose  to  call  them,  form  a  third  schoo'i.  Consult  the  Abbe 
de  Mably.  According  to  tliis  school,  tlie  government  by  which 
/ociety  was  ruled  in  the  fifth  century,  was  composed  of  free 
institutions  ;  of  assemblies  of  freemen,  of  the  nation  proj)er- 
iy  so  called.  Kings  and  nobles  enriched  themselves  by  tlie 
spoils  of  this  primitive  Liberty ;  it  has  fallen  under  their  re- 
peated attacks,  but  it  reigned  before  them. 

Another  power,  however,  claimed  the  right  of  governing 
society,  and  upon  much  higher  grounds  than  any  of  these. 
Monarchical,  aristocratic,  and  popular  pretensions  were  all 
of  a  worldly  nature :  the  Church  of  Rome  founded  her  pre- 
tensions upon  her  sacred  mission  and  divine  right.  By  hei 
labors,  Europe,  she  said,  had  attained  the  blessings  of  civi 
lizatior  and  truth,  and  to  her  alone  belonged  the  right  ti; 
govern  it. 

Here  then  is  a  difficulty  which  meets  us  at  the  very  outi;et. 
We  have  stated  our  belief  that  no  one  of  the  elements  of 
European  civilization  obtained  an  exclusive  mastery  over  it, 
in  the  whole  course  of  its  history,  that  they  lived  in  a  con- 
Btant  slate  of  proximity,  of  amalgamation,  of  strife,  and  of 
compromise  ;  yet  here,  at  our  very  first  step,  we  are  met  by  the 
directly  opposite  opinion,  that  one  or  other  of  these  elements, 
even  ir.  .he  very  infancy  of  civilization,  even  in  the  very  heart 
^f  barbarian  Europe,  took  entire  possession  of  sociei) .  And 
I*  is  Jiot  iu  one  country  alone,  it  is  in  every  nation  of  i'^urop" 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MCDFRN    EUuOPE  63 

nat  the  various  principloa  of  our  civilization,  under  forms  n 
jttle  varied,  at  epochs  a  little  apart,  have  displayed  these 
irreconcilable  pretensions.  The  historic  schools  which  I  have 
enumerated  arc  met  with  everywhere. 

Tills  lac  3  important,  not  in  itself,  but  becn^nsc  it  reveals 
some  other  facts  which  make  a  great  figure  in  our  history 
By  this  simultaneous  advancement  of  claims  the  most  opposeJ 
o  the  exclusive  possession  of  power,  in  the  first  stage  of 
;aodern  Europe,  two  important  facts  are  revealed ;  first,  tho 
princijile,  the  idea  of  political  legitimacy  ;  an  idea  which  has 
played  a  considerable  part  in  the  progress  of  European  civili- 
zation. The  second  is  the  particular,  the  true  character  '^f 
tho  stale  of  barbarian  Europe  during  that  period,  which  now 
more  expressly  demands  attention. 

It  is  my  task,  then,  to  explain  these  two  facts  ;  and  to 
8\ow  you  how  they  may  be  fairly  deduced  from  the  early 
struggle  of  the  pretensions  which  I  have  just  called  to  your 
notice. 

Now  what  do  these  various  elements  of  our  civilization, — 
what  do  theocracy,  monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy 
aim  at,  when  they  each  endeavor  to  make  out  that  it  alono 
was  the  first  which  held  possession  of  European  society?  Is 
it  any  thing  beyond  the  desire  of  each  to  establish  its  sole 
claim  to  legitimacy  ?  For  what  is  political  legitimacy  ?  Evi- 
dently nothing  more  than  a  right  founded  upon  antiquity,  upor 
duration,  which  is  obvious  from  the  simple  fact,  that  piiority 
of  time  is  pleaded  as  the  source  of  right,  as  proof  of  legiti- 
mate power.  But,  observe  again,  this  claim  is  not  peculiar 
to  one  system,  to  one  element  of  our  civilization,  but  is  made 
alike  by  all.  Tho  political  writers  of  the  Continent  have  been 
in  the  habit,  for  some  time  past,  of  regarding  legitimacy  as 
belonging,  exclusively,  to  the  monarchical  system.  This  ia 
an  error  ;  legitimacy  may  be  found  in  all  the  systems.  It  hag 
already  been  shown  that,  of  the  various  elements  of  our  civi- 
lization, each  wished  to  appropriate  it  to  itself.  But  advance 
a  few  steps  further  into  the  history  of  Europe,  dnd  you  will 
fce«-  social  forms  of  government,  the  most  opposed  in  prin- 
ciples, aliko  ill  possess  on  of  this  legitimacy.  The  Italian 
and  Swiss  aristocracies  and  democracies,  the  little  republic 
A  San  Marino,  as  well  as  the  most  powerful  monarchies,  have 
considered  themselves  legitimate,  and  have  been  acknowledge*/ 


H  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

as  such  ,  all  founding  their  claim  to  this  title  upon  the  un 
tiquity  of  their  institutions ;  upon  *.he  historical  i)riority  ?ni 
duration  of  their  particular  system  of  government. 

If  we  leave  modern  Europe,  and  turn  our  attention  toother 
times  and  to  other  countries,  wo  shall  everywhere  find  this 
same  notion  prevail  respecting  political  legitimacy.  It  every- 
where attaches  itself  to  some  portion  of  government ;  to  som^ 
institution ;  to  some  form,  or  to  some  maxim.  There  is  no 
country,  no  time,  in  which  you  may  not  discover  some  por- 
tion of  the  social  system,  some  pul)lic  authority,  that  has  as- 
sumed, and  been  acknowledged  to  possess,  this  character  ol 
legitimacy,  arising  from  anticjuity,  prescription,  and  duration 

Let  us  for  a  moment  see  what  this  legitimacy  is  ?  of  vvhai 
U  is  composed  ?  what  it  requires  ?  and  how  it  found  its  way 
into  European  civilization? 

/  You  will  find  that  all  power — •!  say  all,  without  distinction 
/ — owes  its  existence  in  the  first  place  partly  to  force.  I  dc 
/  not  say  that  force  alone  has  been,  in  all  cases,  the  foundation 
j  of  power,  or  that  this,  without  any  other  title,  could  in  every 
I  case  have  been  established  by  force  alone.  Other  claims  un- 
doubtedly are  requisite.  Certain  powers  become  established 
in  consequence  of  certain  social  expediencies,  of  certain  re- 
lations with  the  state  of  society,  with  its  customs  or  opinions. 
But  it  is  impossible  to  close  our  eyes  to  the  fact,  that  violence 
has  sullied  the  birth  of  all  the  authorities  in  the  world,  what 
ever  may  have  been  their  nature  or  their  form. 
/  This  origin,  however,  no  one  will  acknowledge.  All  au- 
thorities, whatever  their  nature,  disclaim  it.  None  of  them 
will  allow  themselves  to  be  considered  as  the  offspring  of 
fcTce.  Governments  are  warned  by  an  invincible  instinct  that 
force  is  no  title — that  might  is  not  right — and  that,  while  they 
rest  upon  no  other  foundation  than  violence,  they  are  entirely 
destitute  of  right.  Hence,  if  we  go  back  to  some  distant  pe- 
riod, in  which  the  various  systems,  the  various  powers,  are 
'ound  struggling  one  against  the  other,  we  shall  hear  them 
each  exclaiming,  "  I  existed  before  you  ;  my  claim  is  the  old- 
est;  mj  claim  rests  upon  other  grounds  than  force;  society 
belonged  to  ir.e  before  this  state  of  violence,  before  this  strife 
in  which  you  now  find  me.  I  was  legitimate  ;  I  have  boei/ 
opposed,  and  my  rights  have  been  torn  from  me.'' 

This  faci  lIouo  proves  that  the  idea  of  violence  is  not  thi- 
foundutKui  tf  jjoliticai  legitimacy, — that  it  rests  upon  sonw 


OIVll.IZATION    IN    MODERN    EbROPE,  65 

Other  basis.  This  disavowal  of  violence  made  by  every  sys- 
tem, proclaitns,  as  plainly  as  facts  can  speak,  that  there  is 
another  legitimacy,  the  true  foundation  of  all  the  others,  the 
legitimacy  of  reason,  of  justice,  of  right.  It  is  to  this  origin 
that  they  seek  to  link  themselves.  As  they  feel  scandalipjci/ 
at  the  very  idea  of  being  the  ofTspring  of  force,  they  pretend 
to  be  invested,  by  virtue  of  their  antiquity,  with  a  difl'ereul 
title.  The  first  characteristic,  then,  of  political  legitimacy,  is 
to  disclaim  violence  as  the  source  of  authority,  and  to  asso- 
ciate it  with  a  moral  notion,  a  moral  force — with  the  notion 
of  justice,  of  right,  of  reason.  This  is  the  primary  element 
from  which  tjie  principle  of  political  legitimacy  has  sprung 
forth.  It  has  issued  from  it,  aided  by  time,  aided  by  prescrip- 
tion.    Let  us  see  how. 

Violence  presides  at  the  birth  of  governments,  at  the  birth 
of  societies  ;  but  time  rolls  on.  He  changes  the  works  of 
violence.  He  corrects  them.  He  corrects  them,  simply  be- 
cause society  endures,  ai\d  because  it  is  composed  of  men. 
Man  bears  within  himself  certain  notions  of  order,  of  justice, 
of  reason,  with  a  certain  desire  to  bring  them  into  play — he 
wishes  to  see  them  predominate  in  the  sphere  in  which  he 
moves.  For  this  he  labors  unceasingly  ;  and  if  the  social 
eyslem  in  which  he  lives,  continues,  his  labor  is  not  in  vain. 
Man  naturally  brings  reason,  morality,  and  legitimacy  into  the 
world  in  which  he  lives. 

Independently  of  the  labor  of  man,  by  a  special  law  of 
Providence  whicb  it  is  impossible  to  mistake,  a  law  analogous 
to  that  which  rules  the  material  world,  there  is  a  certain  de- 
gree of  order,  of  intelligence,  of  justice,  indispensable  to  the 
duration  of  human  society.  From  the  siniple  fact  of  its  du- 
ration we  may  argue,  that  a  society  is  not  completely  irration- 
al, savage,  or  inicjuitous  ;  that  it  is  not  altogether  destitute  of 
intelligence,  truth,  and  justice,  for  without  these,  society  can- 
not hold  together.  Again,  as  society  develops  itself,  it  hv 
comes  stronger,  more  powerful ;  if  the  social  system  is  con- 
diuially  augmented  by  the  increase  of  individuals  who  accejrt 
ar.d  approve  its  regulations,  it  is  because  the  iction  of  time 
gradually  introduces  into  it  more  right,  more  intelligence,  more 
justice ;  it  it  is  because  a  gradual  approximation  is  made  in 
Its  affairs  to  the  principles  of  true  legitimacy. 

Thus  forces  itself  into  the  world,  and  from  the  world  into 
the  mind  of  man,  the  notion  ol  political  legitimacy.     Its  foun 


36  OENt.lAL    HISTORY    OF 

iation  in  the  first  place,  at  least  to  a  certain  exter.t,  is  morul 
legiiiinacy — is  justice,  intelligence,  Lnd  truth  ;  it  next  obtains 
the  sanction  cf  time,  which  gives  reason  to  believe  that  alTair.^ 
are  conducted  by  reason,  that  the  true  legitimacy  has  been  iti- 
iroduced.  At  the  epoch  which  we  are  about  to  study,  yoi; 
will  find  violence  i-nd  fraud  hovering  over  the  cradle  of  mon- 
archy, aristocracy,  democracy,  and  even  over  the  church  it- 
self;  you  will  see  this  violence  and  fraud  everywhere  gradually 
abated  ;  and  justice  and  truth  taking  their  place  in  civili- 
zation. It  is  this  introduction  of  justice  and  truth  into  our 
social  system,  that  has  nourished  and  gradua'ly  matured  poli- 
tical legitimacy  ;  and  it  is  thus  that  it  lias  taken  firm  root  in 
modern  civilization. 

All  those  tlien  who  have  attempted  at  various  times  to  set 
up  this  idea  of  legitimacy  as  the  foundation  of  absolute  pow- 
er, have  wrested  it  from  its  true  origin.  Ii  has  noihing  to  do 
with  absolute  power.  It  is  under  the  name  of  justice  and 
righteousness  that  it  has  made  its  way  into  the  woill  and 
found  footing.  Neither  is  it  exclusive.  It  belongs  to  no  par- 
ty in  particular  ;  it  springs  up  in  all  systems  where  truth  and 
Justice  prevail.  Political  legitimacy  is  as  nuich  attached  to 
iberty  as  to  power;  to  the  rights  of  individuals  as  to  the 
forms  under  which  are  exercised  the  public  functions.  As  we 
go  on  we  shall  find  it,  as  I  said  before,  in  systems  the  mosi 
opposed  ;  in  the  feudal  system ;  in  the  frcic  cities  of  Flanders 
and  Germany  ;  in  the  republics  of  Italy,  as  well  as  in  monar- 
chy. Il  is  a  quality  which  appertains  to  all  the  divers  ele- 
ments of  our  civilization,  and  which  it  is  necessary  should  be 
well  understood  before  entering  upon  its  history. 

The  second  fact  revealed  to  us  by  that  simultaneous  ad- 
vancement of  claims,  of  which  I  spoke  at  the  beginning  of 
this  lecture,  is  the  true  character  of  what  's  3allcd  the  period 
of  barliarism.  Each  of  the  elements  of  European  civiliza 
lion  pretends,  that  at  this  epoch  Europe  belonged  to  it  alene  ; 
hente  we  may  conclude  that  it  really  belonged  to  no  one  of 
them.  When  any  particular  kind  of  government  prevails  iu 
the  world,  there  is  no  difiiculty  in  recognising  it.  When  we 
r.onie  to  the  tenth  century,  wo  acknowledge;,  without  hesita- 
lion  the  prepomlerance  of  feudalism.  At  the  seventeenth  wo 
hive  no  hesitation  in  asserting,  that  the  monarchical  principle 
prevails.  If  we  turn  our  eyes  to  the  free  conunuruties  of 
Flanders,  to  the  republic?  of  Italy,  we  confess  at  once  the 


CIVILIZATICN     IN     MODERN     EUROPE.  6"? 

(Modomiiianco  of  democracy.     Whenever,  indeed,  anj   out 
{.iiiiciple  really  bears  sway  in  ?ociety,  it  cannot  be  mistaken. 


Thtj  dispute,  then,  that  has  arisen  among  the  various  sy* 
(ouis  wliich  hold  a  part  in  European  civilization,  respecting 
which  I)ore  chief  sway  at  its  origin,  proves  that  they  all  ex 
isted  there  together,  without  any  one  of  them  having  prevail- 
ed 90  generally  as  to  give  to  society  its  form  or  its  name. 

This  is,  indeed,  the  character  of  the  dark  age :  it  was  a 
cliaos  of  all  the  elements ;  the  childhood  of  all  the  systems ; 
a  universal  jumble,  in  which  even  strife  itself  was  neithet 
pcriiKuicnl  nor  systematic.  By  an  examination  of  tlie  tocial 
system  of  this  period  under  its  various  forms,  I  could  show 
you  that  in  no  part  of  them  is  there  to  be  found  anything  like 
a  general  principle,  anything  like  stability.  I  shall,  however, 
con  fine  myself  to  two  essential  particulars — the  state  of  per- 
sons, the  state  of  institutions.  This  will  be  sufficient  to  give 
a  general  picture  of  society. 

We  find  at  this  time  four  classes  of  persons  :  1  st.  Freemen, 
that  is  to  say,  men  who,  depending  upon  no  superior,  upon  no 
patron,  held  their  property  and  life  in  full  liberty,  without  be- 
ing fettered  by  any  obligation  towards  another  individual.  2d 
The  Lucdes,  Fideles,  Antrustions,  &c.,  who  were  connected 
at  first  by  the  relationship  of  companion  and  chief,  and  after- 
wards by  that  of  vassal  and  lord,  towards  another  individua' 
to  whom  they  owed  fealty  and  service,  in  consequence  of  a 
grant  of  lands,  or  some  other  gifts  3d.  Freedmen  'l-th. 
Slaves. 

But  were  these  various  classes  fixed  ?  Were  men  once 
placed  in  a  certain  rank  bound  to  it  ?  Were  the  relations,  in 
which  the  difierent  classes  stood  towards  each  other,  regulai 
or  peimanent  1  Not  at  all.  Freemen  were  contirmally  chang- 
ing their  condition,  and  becoming  vassals  to  nobles,  in  consid- 
eration of  some  gift  which  these  might  have  to  bestow  ;  while 
others  were  falling  into  the  class  of  slaves  or  serfs.  Vassals 
were  continually  struggling  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of  patronage, 
X)  regain  llieir  independence,  to  return  to  the  class  of  freemen. 
Every  part  of  societ)-  was  in  motion.  There  was  a  continual 
passing  and  repassing  from  one  class  to  the  other.  No  man 
continued  long  in  the  same  rank     tin  rank  continued  long  the 

:aine 

5 


88  OENEKAL    HISTOKY     OF 

Property  was  in  much  the  same  state.  1  need  scarceij 
icH  you.  that  j)0ssess-.f>ns  were  distinguished  into  allodial,  oi 
entirely  free,  and  beneficiary,  or  such  as  were  held  by  ten* 
lire,  with  certain  obligations  to  be  discharged  towards  a  supe* 
rior.  Some  writers  attempt  to  trace  out  a  regular  and  estab 
lished  system  with  respect  to  the  latter  class  of  proprietors 
and  lay  it  down  as  a  rule  that  benefices  were  at  first  bestowed 
for  a  determinate  number  of  years  ;  that  they  were  afterw  ardu 
granted  for  life  ;  and  finally,  at  a  later  period,  became  heredi- 
tary. The  attempt  is  vain.  Lands  were  held  in  all  these 
various  ways  at  the  same  time,  and  in  the  same  places.  Be- 
nefices for  a  term  of  years,  benefices  for  life,  hereditary  bene- 
fices, are  found  in  the  same  period ;  even  the  same  lands, 
within  a  few  years,  passed  through  these  difl!*erent  states. 
There  was  nothing  more  settled,  nothing  more  general,  in  the 
state  of  lands  than  in  the  state  of  persons.  Everything  shows 
the  difficulties  of  the  transition  from  the  wandering  life  to  the 
settled  life  ;  from  the  simple  personal  relations  which  existed 
among  the  barbarians  as  invading  migratory  hordes,  to  the 
mixed  relations  of  persons  and  property.  During  this  transi 
lion  all  was  confused,  local,  and  disordered. 

In  institutions  we  observe  the  same  unfixedness,  the  samt 
chaos.  We  find  here  three  difl^erent  systems  at  once  before 
us: — 1st.  Monarchy;  2d.  Aristocracy,  or  the  proprietorship 
of  men  and  lands,  as  lord  and  vassal  ;  and,  3dly.  Free  insti- 
tutions, or  assemblies  of  free  men  deliberating  in  connnon. 
No  one  of  these  systems  entirely  prevailed.  Free  institutions 
existed  ;  but  the  men  who  should  have  formed  part  of  these 
assemblies  seldom  troubled  themselves  to  attend  them.  Ba 
ronial  jurisdiction  was  not  more  regularly  exercised.  Monar- 
chy, the  most  simple  institution,  the  most  easy  to  determine, 
here  had  no  fixed  character  ;  at  one  time  it  was  elective,  a. 
another  hereditary — here  the  son  succeeded  to  hi?  father, 
there  the  election  was  confined  to  a  family ;  in  another  place 
it  was  open  to  all,  jiurely  elective,  and  the  choice  fell  on  a 
distant  relation,  or  perhaps  a  stranger.  In  none  of  these  sys- 
tems can  we  discover  anything  fixed ;  all  the  institutions,  w 
well  as  the  social  conditions,  dwelt  together,  continually  con 
founded,  continually  changing. 

The  same  unsettledness  existed  with  regard  to  states  ,  ihej 
iverc  created,  suppressed,  united,  and  divided  ;  no  goveru' 
mor»8  no  fr'Titiers  no  nations  ;  a  general  iunible  :^f  situ  \li3n3 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE  CO 

principles,  events,    races,    languages .    such    was   barbarian 
Europe. 


Let  us  now  fix  the  limits  ol  this  extraordinary  peiiod.  Its 
origin  is  strongly  defined  ;  it  began  with  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
empire.  But  where  did  it  close  ?  To  settle  this  question, 
we  must  find  out  the  cause  of  this  state  of  society ;  we  must 
see  wha»  "were  the  causes  of  barbarism. 

I  think  1  can  point  out  two  : — one  material,  arising  from 
exterior  circumstances,  from  the  course  of  events  ;  the  other, 
moral,  arising  from  the  mind,  from  the  intellects  of  man. 

The  material,  or  outward  cause,  was  the  continuance  of 
invasion  ;  for  it  must  not  be  stipposed  that  the  invasions  of  the 
barbarian  hordes  stopped  all  at  once  in  the  fifth  century.  Do 
not  believe  that  because  the  Roman  empire  was  fallen,  and 
kingdoms  of  barbarians  founded  upon  its  ruins,  that  the  move- 
ment of  nations  was  over.  There  are  plenty  of  facts  to  prove 
that  this  was  not  the  case,  and  that  this  movement  lasted  a 
long  time  after  the  destruciion  of  the  empire. 

If  we  look  to  the  Franks,  or  French,  we  shall  find  even  the 
tirst  race  of  kings  continually  carrying  on  wars  beyond  the 
Rhine.  We  see  Clotaire,  Dagobert,  making  expedition  after 
expedition  into  Germany,  and  engaged  in  a  constant  struggle 
with  the  Thuringiajis,  the  Danes,  and  the  Saxons  who  occu- 
pied the  right  bank  of  that  river.  And  why  was  this  but  be- 
cause these  nations  wished  to  cross  the  Rhine  and  get  a  share 
in  the  spoils  of  the  empire  1  How  came  it  to  pass  tliat  the 
Franks,  established  in  Gaul,  and  principally  the  Eastern,  or 
Austrasian  Franks,  much  about  the  same  time,  threw  them- 
selves ir  such  large  bodies  upon  Switzerland,  and  invaded 
Italy  by  crossing  the  Alps  ?  It  was  because  thsy  were  push- 
ed forward  by  new  populations  from  the  north-east.  Thos«i 
invasions  were  not  mere  pillaging  inroads,  they  were  not  ex- 
peditions undertaken  for  the  purpose  of  plunder,  they  weif 
the  result  of  necessity.  The  people,  disturbed  in  their  own 
seUlemcnts,  pressed  forward  to  better  their  fortune  and  find 
new  abodes  elsewhere.  A  new  German  nation  entered  upon 
the  arena,  and  founded  the  powerful  kingdom  of  the  Lombards 
ai  Italy.  In  Gaul,  or  France,  the  Merovinginian  dynasty 
4a ve  way  to  the  Carlo vingian  ;  a  change  which  is  now  gf;n 


rO  GENERAL    hiSTORY    OF 

erally  ackno  A'ledged  to  have  been,  properly  speakirg,  a  new 
irruption  of  Franks  into  Gaul — a  movement  of  nations,  whicli 
substituted  the  Eastern  Franks  for  the  Western.  Under  the 
bocond  race  of  kings,  we  find  Charlemagne  playing  the  same 
nart  against  the  Saxons,  which  the  Merovinginian  princcfi 
played  against  the  Thuringians  :  he  carried  on  an  unceasing 
war  against  the  nations  beyond  .he  Rliine,  who  were  pi^t- 
cipitated  upon  the  west  oy  the  Wiltzians,  the  Swabians, 
she  Bohemians,  and  the  various  tribes  of  Slavonians,  who 
trod  on  the  heels  of  the  German  race.  Throughout  tin? 
north-east  emigrations  were  going  on  and  changing  the  face 
of  affairs. 

In  the  south,  a  movement  of  the  same  nature  took  place. 
While  the  German  and  Slavonian  tribes  pressed  along  the 
Rhine  and  Danube,  the  Saracens  began  to  ravage  and  conquer 
the  various  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean. 

The  invasion  of  the  Saracens,  however,  had  a  character 
peculiarly  its  own.  In  them  the  spirit  of  conquest  was  united 
with  the  spirit  of  proselytism  ;  the  sword  was  drawn  as  well 
for  the  pronudgation  of  a  faith  as  the  acquisition  of  territory. 
There  is  a  vast  difference  between  their  invasion  and  that  of 
the  Germans.  In  the  Christian  world  spiritual  force  and  tem 
poral  force  were  quite  distinct.  The  zeal  for  tlie  propagation 
of  a  faitli  and  the  lust  of  conquest  are  not  inmates  of  the  same 
bosom.  TliG  Germans,  after  their  conversion,  preserved  tlic- 
same  manners,  the  same  sentiments,  the  same  tastes,  as  be- 
fore ;  they  were  still  guided  by  passions  and  interests  of  a 
worldly  nature.  They  had  become  Christians,  but  not  mis- 
sionaries. The  Saracens,  on  the  contrary,  were  both  con- 
querors and  missionaries.  The  power  of  the  Koran  and  of  tho 
sjvvord  was  in  the  same  hands.  And  it  was  this  peculiarity 
which,  I  think,  ^"ive  to  Mohammedan  civilization  the  wretch- 
ed character  which  it  bears.  It  was  in  this  union  of  the  tem 
poral  and  spiritual  powers,  and  the  confusion  which  it  created 
between  mor.al  authority  and  physical  force,  that  that  tyranny 
was  born  which  seems  inherent  in  their  civilization.  This  I 
t<elieve  to  be  the  principal  cause  of  that  stationary  state  ir;lu 
which  it  has  everywhere  fallen.  This  eifect,  however,  did 
aot  show  itself  upon  the  firs^  rise  of  Mohammedanism ;  the 
union,  on  the  contrary,  of  military  ardor  and  religious  zeal, 
(javc  to  the  Saracen  invasion  a  prodigious  power.  Its  ideas 
And  moral  passions  hal  at  once  a  brilliancy  and  splendor  al- 
together waiting  in  tli'   Germanic  invasion.s  ;  it  displayed  i' 


CIVII.IZAiriON     IN     MODERN     Eli/lOfL  71 

^clf  willi  more  energy  and  cntliiisiasni,  and  had  t.  correajUJii- 
lent  cfTect  upon  the  minds  and  passions  of  men. 

Such  was  the  situation  of  Europe  from  tlie  fiftli  to  the  ninth 
century.  Pressed  on  the  south  by  the  Moliammcdaiis,  and  on 
ihe  riortli  by  the  Germans  and  Slavoninns,  il  could  not  be 
oilierwise  than  that  the  reaction  of  this  double  invasion  shouhl 
keep  the  interior  of  Europe  in  a  state  of  continual  ferment 
Populations  were  incessantly  displaced,  crowded  one  upon 
another  ;  there  was  no  regularity,  nothing  permanent  or  fixed. 
Some  dirterences  undoubtedly  prevailed  between  the  various 
n?.tions.  The  chaos  was  more  general  in  Germany  than  in 
the  other  parts  of  Europe  Here  was  the  focus  of  movement 
France  was  more  agitated  than  Italy.  But  nowhere  could  so 
ciety  become  settled  and  regulated  ;  barbarism  everywhere 
continued,  and  from  the  same  cause  tltat  introduced  it.'' 


^  The  following  chronological  indications  may  assist  in  recalling 

a  more  distinct  view  of  the  invasions,  conquests,  and  revolutions 

of  this  stormy  perio(?. 

6()7.  Clovis  (of  the  Merovingian  dynasty,  and  true  founder  of  the 
Frankish  empire)  adds  to  his  former  acquisitions  the  conquest 
of  the  Visigotliic  kingdom.  Dies,  511.  Kingdotn  divided  be- 
tween his  four  sons,  but  ultimately  united  under  one  of  them, 
Clotaire  I.,  568. 

530.  Thuringia  conquered  and  annexed  to  the  Frankish  dominions. 

535.  Conquest  of  Burgundy  by  the  Franks. 

554.  Osiro-Gothic  kingdom  destroyed  by  Narses — Italy  becomes  Q 
province  of  the  Eastern  Empire. 

560.  Gepidse  destroyed  by  the  Lombards  and  Avars. 

568.  Kingdom  of  the  Lombards  established  in  ''Jpi)er  Italy. — South- 
ern Ila.y  continues  an  exarchate  of  the  Eastern  Empire. 

028.  Dagobert  I.  (son  of  Clotaire  II.)  king  of  the  Franks.  Inva- 
sion of  the  Slavonians  (Wendi).  Mayors  of  the  Palace  con- 
trol the  royal  authority. 

887.  Pepin  Heristal,  mayor  of  the  palace. 

711  The  Saracens  appear  in  Europe — conquer  Spain  -cross  th^' 
Pyrenees — checked  on  the  Aude,  712— .made  France,  bealeu 
by  Eudesdukeof  Aquitaine,  721 — driven  beyona  the  Aude,  725. 

T15,  Charles  Martel  mayor  of  the  palace. 

'/a6  Leo  (Iconoclastes),  Emperor  of  the  East,  issues  ai\  edict 
against  image-worship — the  people  of  Rome  and  Naples  re 
volt — exarch  of  Ravenna  murdered  by  the  people,  and  the  city 
yielded  to  the  Lombards.  A  sort  of  republic  under  the  au- 
thority of  the  Pope  established  at  Rome  ;  including  the  terri- 
tory from  Viterba  toTerracina,  and  from  Narni  to  Ostia.  Com- 
mencement of  the  tenporal  power  of  the  Popes.     Thp  Pop 


72  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Thus  much  for  the  material  cause  depending  upon  the  course- 
of  events  ;  let  us  now  look  to  tlie  moral  cause,  founded  on  tho 
intellectual  condition  of  man,  which,  it  must  be  acknowledged, 
was  not  less  powerful. 

For,  certainly,  after  all  is  said  and  done,  whatever  may  b«? 
the  course  of  external  affairs,  it  is  man  himself  who  makes 
our  world.  It  is  according  to  the  ideas,  the  sentiments,  the 
moral  and  intellectual  dispositions  of  man  himself,  that  ihe 


and  the  republic  of  Venice  (founded  697)  unite  to  drive  the 
Lombards  from  Ravenna. 

732.  Saracens  invade  France— defeated  by  Charles  Marlel  at  liio 
Battle  of  Tours. 

752-757.  Pepin  the  Sliort,  mayor  of  the  palace — deposes  Childeric, 
the  last  of  the  Merovingian  kings — recognised  king  by  ihe 
Pope — founds  the  Carlovingian  dynasty. 

E.xarchate  of  Ravenna  destroyed  by  the  Lombards — the  Pope 
and  the  Romans  refuse  submission — invite  the  aid  of  Pepin, 
who  invades  Italy  and  forces  the  Lombards  to  give  up  the 
exarchate  of  Ravenna  and  the  Pentapolis,  which  lie  bestows 
upon  the  Pope.  Commencement  ui  the  relations  between  the 
Popes  and  the  German  princes. 

*(38.  Charlemagne  king — conquers  Aquitania,  769  ;  overthrows  the 
Lombard  Kingdom  of  Italy,  774 ;  first  war  against  the  Sax- 
ons ;  drives  them  beyond  the  Weser,  772-774;  defeats  them 
again,  777;  war  against  Spain,  778;  second  war  against  the 
Saxons,  778-735;  subdues  all  on  the  south  of  the  Elbe,  com- 
pels them  to  receive  baptism.  The  Lombards  (of  Beneven- 
tum),  the  Greeks,  and  Avari,  league  against  him — defeated. 
Avari  subdued  and  Cbristianized,  791-799. 

BOO.  Ch/lrlemagne  restores  the  Roman  Empire  of  the  West ;  re- 
ceives the  imperial  crown  from  the  Pope;  Saxons  on  the  Elbe 
subdued  and  dispersed,  812.  [The  subjugation  of  the  Saxons 
had  cost  Charlemagne  thirty  years  war.]  War  with  the 
Wiltzians  and  other  Slavonian  tribes.  Maritime  incursions 
of  the  Northmen  on  the  ocean  coast,  and  of  the  Saracens  on 
the  Mediterranean. 

814.  Death  of  Charlemagne.  This  event  was  followed  by  the  dis- 
memberment of  his  empire,  and  the  formation  of  the  tliret 
great  states  of  Germany,  France,  and  Italy;  also  of  three 
secondary  kingdoms,  Castile,  Arragon,  and  Navarre. 

The  death  of  Charlemagne  and  the  breaking  up  of  his  vaat 
system  likewise  opened  the  barriers  of  the  empire  to  the  in- 
cursions of  the  Saracens,  the  Northmen,  the  Slavonians,  and 
the  Hungarians:  it  was  not  until  the  close  of  the  tenth  cen- 
tury that  the  barbarian  invasions  can  be  said  to  havp  dcfinitelt 
reused. 


CIVILIZATION     rN    MODERN     EUROPE 


73 


^orM  is  regulated,  and  marches  onward.  It  is  upon  the 
intellectual  state  of  man  that  the  visible  form  of  society 
^epends. 

Now  let  us  consider  for  a  moment  what  is  required  to  ea 
«ble  men  to  form  themselves  into  a  society  somewhat  durable, 
jomewhat  regular?  It  is  evidently  necessary,  in  the  first 
place,  that  they  should  have  a  certain  number  of  ideas  sufR- 
.".iently  enlarged  to  settle  upon  the  terms  by  which  this  society 
should  be  formed ;  to  apply  themselves  to  its  wants,  to  its  re- 
lation? In  the  second  place,  it  is  necessary  that  these  idesis 
thould  be  common  to  the  greater  part  of  the  members  of  lac 
society  ;  and  finally,  that  they  should  put  some  constraint  upon 
their  own  inclinations  and  actions. 

It  is  clear  that  where  men  possess  no  ideas  extending  be- 
yond their  own  existence,  where  their  intellectual  horizon  is 
bounded  in  self,  if  they  are  still  delivered  up  to  iheir  own 
passions,  and  their  own  wills. — if  they  have  not  among  them 
a  certain  number  of  notions  and  sentiments  common  to  them 
all,  round  which  they  may  all  rally,  it  is  clear  that  they  can- 
not form  a  society :  without  this  each  individual  will  be  a 
principle  of  agitation  and  dissolution  in  the  social  system  of 
which  he  forms  a  part. 

Wherever  individualism  reigns  nearly  absolute,  wherever \ 
man  considers  but  himself,  wherever  his  ideas  extend  not  be- 
yond himself,  wherever  he  only  yields  obedience  to  his  own 
passions,  there  society — that  is  to  say,  society  in  any  degree 
extended  or  permanent — becomes  almost  impossible.  Now 
this  was  just  the  moral  state  of  the  conquerors  of  Europe  at 
the  epoch  which  engages  our  attention.  I  remarked,  in  the 
last  lecture,  that  we  owe  to  the  Germans  the  powerful  senti- 
ment of  personal  liberty,  of  human  individualism.  Now,  in  a 
state  of  extreme  rudeness  and  ignorance,  this  sentiment  is 
mere  selfishness,  in  all  its  brutality,  with  all  its  unsociability. 
Such  was  its  character  from  the  fifth  to  the  eighth  century, 
among  the  Germans.  They  cared  for  nothing  beyond  their 
own  interest,  for  nothing  beyond  the  gratification  of  their  own 
irfissions,  their  own  inclinations  ;  how,  then,  could  they  ac- 
Gonmodate  themselves,  in  any  tolerable  degree,  to  the  social 
,*oi)  liiion  T  The  attempt  was  made  to  bring  them  into  it ;  they 
endeavored  of  themselves  to  enter  into  it ;  but  an  act  of  im- 
provi  lence,  a  burst  of  passion,  h  lack  of  intelligence,  soon 
threw  them  back  to  their. old  position.  At  every  instant  we 
■ip.e  attempts  made  tc   form  man  into  a  social  state,  and  uf 


74  GENERAL     HISTORY     OF 

■    every  instant  we  see  them  overthrown  by  tlie  failings  of  nun,  bj 
the  absence  of  the  moral  conditions  necessary  to  its  existent.fi. 


Suciv  were  the  two  causes  which  kepi  our  forefathers  iii  8 
gtate  of  barbarism ;  so  long  as  these  continued,  so  long  bur- 
bari3m  endured.  Let  us  see  if  we  can  discover  when  and 
Aom  what  causes  it  at  last  ceased. 

Europe  labored  to  emerge  from  this  state.  It  is  contrary 
lo  the  nature  of  man,  even  when  sunk  into  it  by  his  own  fault, 
to  wish  to  reuiain  in  it.  However  rude,  however  ignorant, 
however  sellish,  however  headstrong,  there  is  yel  in  him  a 
still  small  voice,  an  instinct,  which  tells  him  he  was  made  for 
something  better ; — that  he  has  another  and  higher  destiny, 
la  the  midst  of  confusion  and  disorder,  he  is  haunted  and  tor- 
mented by  a  taste  for  order  and  improvement.  The  claim? 
of  justice,  of  pnidence,  of  developuient,  disturb  him,  even 
imder  the  yoke  of  the  most  brutish  egotism.  lie  fools  him- 
self impelled  to  improve  the  material  world,  society,  and  him- 
self; he  labors  to  do  this,  without  attempting  to  account  to 
nimself  for  the  want  which  urges  him  to  the  task.  The  bar- 
barians aspired  to  civilization,  while  they  were  yet  incapable 
of  it — nay,  more — while  they  even  detested  it  whenever  itf 
laws  restrained  their  selfish  desires. 

/  There  still  remained,  too,  a  considerable  number  of  wrecks 
and  fragments  of  Roman  civilization.  The  name  of  the  em- 
pire, the  remembrance  of  that  great  and  glorious  society  still 
dwelt  in  the  memory  of  many,  and  especially  among  the  sena- 
tors of  cities,  bishops,  priests,  and  all  those  wlio  could  trace 
their  origin  to  the  lionian  world. 

Among  the  barbarians  themselves,  or  their  barbarian  ances- 
i  ors,  many  had  witnessed  the  greatness  of  the  Krnian  empire  : 
they  had  served  in  its  armies ;  the)  had  conquered  it.  The 
image,  the  name  of  Roman  civilization  dazzled  them  ;  thoj 
'felt,  a  desire  to  imitate  it;  to  bring  it  back  again,  to  preserve 
•ome  portion  of  it.  This  was  another  cause  whit  h  ought  to 
have  forced  them  out  of  the  state  of  barbarism,  which  I  havs 
described. 

f     A   ihud   cause,  and  one  whicii  readily  presents  itself  tt 
\  ijWTy  one  was  the  Christian  Church.    The  Christian  Churc] 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN    EUROPE.  76 

uras  a  regularly  constituted  society  ,  having  its  maxims,  its 
niles,  its  discij)liiie,  together  with  an  ardent  desire  to  extend 
Its  influence,  to  conquer  its  conquerors.  Among  tlie  ChriH- 
lians  of  this  period,  in  the  Catholic  clergy,  tliere  were  men  ol 
profound  and  varied  learning ;  men  who  had  thought  deeply, 
who  were  versed  in  ethics  and  politics  ;  who  had  formed  defi- 
nite opinions  and  vigorous  notions,  upon  all  subjects;  who 
felt  a  praiseworthy  zeal  to  propagate  information,  and  to  ad- 
vance the  cause  of  learning.  No  society  ever  made  greatcv 
eflbrts  than  the  Christian  Church  did  from  the  fifth  to  the 
tenth  century,  to  influence  the  world  iround  it,  and  to  assimi- 
late it  to  itself.  When  its  history  shall  become  the  particular 
object  of  our  examination,  we  shall  more  clearly  see  what  it 
attempted — it  attacked,  in  a  manner,  bartiarism  at  every  point, 
in  order  to  civilize  it  and  rule  over  it. 

Finally,  a  fourth  cause  of  the  progress  of  civilization,  a 
cause  which  it  is  impossible  strictly  to  appreciate,  but  wliich 
is  not  therefore  the  loss  real,  was  the  appearance  of  great 
nu:n.  'i'o  say  why  a  great  man  appears  on  tlic  stage  at  a  cer- 
tain epoch,  or  what  of  his  own  individual  development  he  im- 
parts to  the  world  at  large,  is  beyond  our  power ;  it  is  the 
secret  of  Providence  ;  but  the  fact  is  still  certain.  There  are 
men  to  whom  the  spectacle  of  society,  in  a  state  of  anarchy 
or  immobility,  is  revolting  and  almost  unbearable  ;  it  occa- 
sions them  an  intellectual  shudder,  as  a  thing  that  should  not 
be  ;  they  feel  an  unconquerable  desire  to  change  it ;  to  restore 
order  ;  to  introduce  something  general,  regular  and  permanent, 
into  the  world  which  is  placed  before  them.  Tremendous 
power !  often  tyrannical,  committing  a  thousand  iniquities,  a 
thousand  errors,  for  human  weakness  accompanies  it.  Glori 
ous  and  salutary  power  !  nevertheless,  for  it  gives  to  human 
it},  and  by  the  hand  of  man,  a  new  and  powerful  impulse. 

These  various  causes,  these  various  powers  working  to 
gethei,  led  to  several  attempts,  between  the  fifth  and  nintL 
centuiies,  to  draw  European  society  from  the  barbarous  stale 
into  which  it  had  fallen. 

The  iirst  of  these  was  the  compilation  uf  the  barbarian 
aw$  ;  an  attempt  which,  though  it  effected  but  little,  we  can- 
not pass  over,  because  it  was  made  by  the  barbarians  them- 
selves. Between  the  oixth  and  eighth  centuries,  the  laws  ol 
nearly  all  the  barbarous  nations  (which,  however,  were  nothing 


Jf)  CENERAL    HISTORi     OP 

more  lliaii  ihc  rude  customs  by  which  they  had  been  reguial 
ed,  before  their  ii  vasion  of  the  Roman  empire)  were  re- 
duced to  writing  Of  these  there  are  enumerated  the  codes 
of  the  Burgundians,  tlie  Salii,  and  Ripuarian  Franks,  the 
Visigoths,  the  Lombards,  the  Saxons,  the  Prisons,  the  Ba- 
varians, ihe  Germans,  and  some  others.  This  was  evi- 
dently a  commencement  of  civilization — an  attempt  to  liring 
society  under  the  authority  of  general  and  fixed  principles. 
Much,  however,  could  not  be  expected  from  it.  It  publibiied 
tlie  laws  of  a  society  which  no  longer  existed  ;  the  laws  of 
the  social  system  of  the  barbarians  before  their  establishmeul 
in  the  Roman  territory — before  they  had  changed  their  wan- 
dering life  for  a  settled  one  ;  before  the  nomad  warriors  be- 
came lost  in  the  landed  proprietors.  It  is  true,  that  here  and 
there  may  be  found  an  article  respecting  the  lands  conquered 
by  the  barbarians,  or  respecting  their  relations  with  the  an- 
cient inhabitants  of  the  country  ;  some  few  bold  attempts  were 
made  to  regulate  tlie  new  circumstances  in  which  they  were 
placed.  But  the  far  greater  part  of  these  laws  were  taken  up 
with  their  ancient  life,  their  ancient  condition  in  Germany  ; 
were  totally  inapplicable  to  the  new  state  of  society,  and  had 
but  a  small  share  in  its  advancement. 

In  Italy  and  the  south  of  Gaul,  another  attempt  of  a  differ- 
ent character  was  made  about  this  time.  In  these  places 
Roman  society  had  not  been  so  completely  rooted  out  as  else- 
where ;  in  the  cities,  especially,  there  still  remained  some- 
thing of  order  and  civil  life ;  and  in  tliese  civilization  seemed 
to  make  a  stand.  If  we  look,  for  example,  at  the  kingdom  of 
the  Ostrogoths  in  Italy  under  Theodoric  we  shall  see,  even 
under  the  dominion  of  a  barbarous  nation  and  king,  the  nmni- 
eipal  form  taking  breath,  as  it  were,  and  exercising  a  consid- 
erable influence  upon  the  general  tide  of  events.  Here  Ro- 
man manners  had  modified  the  Gothic,  and  brought  them  in  u 
^eat  degree  to  assume  a  likeness  to  their  own.  The  samo 
thing  took  place  in  the  south  of  Gaul.  At  tlie  opening  of  the 
sixth  century,  Alaric,  a  Visigolhic  king  of  Toulouse,  caused  a 
collection  of  the  Roman  laws  to  be  made,  and  published 
ander  the  name  of  Brcviaru?n  Aniaiii,  t.  code  for  his  Roman 
subjects.^ 

8  Some  knowledge  of  these  codes  ia  necessary.  Laws  are  the 
best  uidex  of  the  state  of  a  people :  but  the  barbarian  codes  art 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN    JCUROPE.  "^7 

In  Spain,  a  diflcrcnt  power,  that  of  the  churcii,  endeavored 
lo  restore  \he  work  of  civilization.  Instead  of  the  ancient 
Germaii  assemblies  of  warriors,  the  assembly  that  had  mos! 
influence  in  Spain  was  the  Council  of  Toledo  ;  and  in  iliia 
council  the  bishops  bore  sway,  although  it  was  attended  by 
the  higher  order  of  the  laity.  Open  the  laws  of  the  Visigothw., 
and  you  will  discover  that  it  is  not  a  code  compiled  by  bar- 
barians, but  bears  conviticing  marks  of  having  been  drawn  up 
by  the  philosophers  of  the  age — by  the  clerj^y.  It  abounds  in 
general  views,  in  theories,  and  in  theories,  indeed,  altogether 
i'oreign  to  barbarian  manners.  Thus,  for  example,  we  know 
I  hat  the  legislation  of  the  barbarians  was  a  personal  legisla 
lion  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  same  law  only  applied  to  one  parti- 
cular race  of  men.  The  Romans  were  judged  by  the  old  Ro- 
man laws,  the  Franks  were  judged  by  the  Salian  or  R'ouarian 
code  ;  in  short,  each  people  had  its  separate  laws,  though 
united  under  the  same  government,  and  dwelling  together  in 
the  same  territory.  This  is  what  is  called  personal  legisla- 
tion, in  contradistinction  to  real  legislation,  which  is  founded 
upim  territory.  Now  this  is  exactly  the  case  with  the 
legislation  of  the  Visigoths  ;  it  is  not  personal,  but  territorial. 
All  the  inhalntants  of  Spain,  Romans,  Visigoths,  or  what  not, 
were  compelled  to  yield  obedience  to  one  law.  Read  a  little 
further,  and  you  will  meet  with  still  more  striking  traces  of 
philosophy.      Among  the  barbarians  a  fixed  price  was  put  upon 

jiarticularly  interesting  as  the  first  result  of  the  contact  of  barbar- 
ism with  civilization.  In  fact,  the  collecting  and  reducing  to  writ- 
ing of  these  rude  customs  must  be  considered  partly  as  an  imitation 
of  the  Romans  by  their  conquerors. 

Of  the  Capitularies  some  knowledge  should  likewise  be  obtained. 
These  were  proclamations  or  laws  published  by  different  kings  from 
Clovis  t(>  Hugh  Capet.  Taken  in  connexion  with  the  codes,  they 
indicate  the  character  of  the  people,  and  the  changes  in  the  state 
of  society. 

The  original  sources  of  S.iformation  are  the  work  of  Lindenbro- 
gius  for  the  codes,  of  Baluze  foi  the  capitularies.  The  general 
reader  will  find  something  on  the  subject  in  Gibbon  and  in  Mon- 
tesquieu ;  but  Butler's  Hor<t  Juridicm  is  the  best  book— concisr,  yet 
complete  in  the  view  it  gives. 

Among  the  peci:liarities  by  which  most  of  these  laws  are  distui* 
Tuished  from  modern  legislation,  the  most  striking  is  perhaps  the 
fact  that  all  offences  were  punished  w'nh  fines.  This  is  significant 
)f  the  barbarian  sentiment  of  individuality,  of  personal  indepen 
dence.  The  barbarian  will  not  suffer  his  life  or  liberty  to  be  af 
focted  by  hi?  actions. 


78  OtNERAL    HISTOKV    OF 

man,  according  to  his  rank  in  society — the  life  of  the  Luina 
rian,  ilie  Roman,  the  freeman,  and  vassal,  were  not  vaUied  at 
the  same  amount — there  was  a  graduated  scale  of  prices.  Hu*. 
the  principle  that  all  men's  lives  are  of  enual  worth  in  \\u 
eyes  of  the  law,  was  established  by  the  code  of  the  Visigoths, 
The  same  superiority  is  observable  in  their  judicial  procec.J- 
ings  : — instead  of  the  ordeal,  the  oath  of  compurgators,  or  tiial 
by  battle,  you  will  find  the  proofs  established  by  wituesses,  and 
a  rational  examination  made  of  the  fact,  such  as  might  take 
place  in  a  civilized  society.  In  short,  the  code  of  the  Visi- 
goths bore  throughout  evident  maiiis  of  learning,  system,  and 
polity.  In  it  we  trace  the  hand  of  the  same  clergy  tiiat  acted 
in  the  Council  of  Toledo,  and  which  exercised  so  large  and 
beneficial  an  influence  upon  the  governmeiH  of  the  country.^ 

In  Spain  then,  up  to  the  time  of  the  great  invasion  of  the 
Saracens,  it  was  the  hierarchy  which  made  the  greatest  efibrt.s 
to  advance  civilization. 

In  France,  the  attempt  was  made  by  another  power.  Ii 
was  the  work  of  great  men,  and  above  all  of  Charlemagne. 
Examine  bis  reign  under  its  diirurent  aspects  ;  and  you  will 
pee  that  the  darling  object  of  his  life  was  to  civilize  the  nations 
he  governed.  Let  us  regard  him  first  as  a  warrior.  Me  wa.s 
iilways  in  the  field  ;  from  the  south  to  the  north-east,  from 
'lie  Ebro  to  the  Elbe  and  VVeser.  Perhaps  you  imagine  that 
'hese  exj)editions  were  the  effect  of  choice,  and  sjirung  from 
n  pure  love  of  conquest  ?  No  such  thing.  I  will  not  assert 
'nat  he  pursued  any  very  regular  system,  or  that  there  was  much 
diplomacy  or  strategy  in  bis  plans  ;  but  what  he  did  sprar.^ 
Irom  necessity,  and  a  desire  to  repress  barbarism.  From  the 
beginning  to  ihe  end  of  his  reign  he  was  occupied  in  staying 
the  progress  of  a  double  invasion — that  of  the  Mohannuedans 
in  the  south,  and  that  of  the  Germanic  and  Slavonic  tribes  in 
the  north.  Tiiis  is  what  gave  the  reign  of  Charlemagne  ita 
military  cast.  I  have  already  said  that  his  expeditions  against 
the  Saxons  were  undertaken  for  the  same  purpose.  If  v\"< 
pass  on  from  his  wars  to  his  government,  we  shall  find  the 
case  much  the  same  :  his  leading  object  was  to  introduce  or- 
der and  unity  in   every  part  of  his    extensive  dominions.      I 

»  Drj  Micliels  represents  llip  code  of  ilie  Visiijotns,  as  sanctioned 
oy  .he  C'juncil  of  Toledo  in  6.S8,  to  Invc  been  only  a  revision  an^ 
amcncfjnent    f  the  code  of  Alaric,  [)ublisned  in  50(5. 


CIMLIZAriON     -N     MODERN     KUROPE. 


79 


ht\c  nol  said  kirgdnm  or  state,  because  these  words  are  to<i 
precise  in  their  signification,  and  call  up  ideas  which  bear 
Init  little  relation  to  the  society  of  which  Charlemagne  stood 
Rt  the  head.  Thus  much,  however,  seems  certain,  that  when 
ne  found  iiimself  master  of  this  vast  territory,  it  mortified  and 
grieved  him  to  see  all  within  it  so  precarious  and  unsettled—- 
to  see  anarchy  and  brutality  everywhere  prevailing, — and  it 
was  the  first  wish  of  his  heart  to  better  this  wretched  condi- 
tion of  society.  He  endeavored  to  do  this  at  first  by  his  misst 
rffu,  whom  he  sent  into  every  part  of  his  dominions  to  find 
or>t  and  correct  abuses  ;  to  amend  the  mal-administration  o^ 
juafice,  and  to  render  him  an  account  of  all  that  was  wrong; 
and  afterwards  by  the  general  assemblies  or  parliaments  as 
they  have  been  called  of  the  Champ  de  Mars,  which  he  held 
more  regularly  than  any  of  his  prcdcscessors.  These  assem- 
blies he  made  nearly  every  considerable  person  in  his  domin- 
ions to  attend.  They  were  not  assemblies  formed  for  the 
preservation  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  there  was  nothing 
in  them  I)carii.g  any  likeness  to  the  deliberations  of  our  own 
Jays.  Hut  Charlemagne  found  them  a  means  by  which  he 
could  become  well  informed  of  facts  and  circumstances,  and 
by  which  he  could  introduce  some  regulation,  some  unity,  into 
the  restless  and  disorganized  populations  he  had  to  govern. 

In  whatever  point  of  view,  indeed,  we  regard  the  reign  of 
Charlemagne,  we  always  find  its  leading  characteristic  to  be 
a  desire  to  overcome  barbarism,  and  to  advance  civilization. 
We  see  this  conspicuously  in  his  foundation  of  schools,  in  his 
collecting  of  libraries,  in  his  gathering  about  him  the  learned 
of  all  countries  ;  in  the  favor  he  showed  towards  the  influencfi 
of  the  church,  for  everything,  in  a  word,  which  seemed  like. 
ly  to  operate  beneficially  upon  society  in  general,  or  the  in- 
dividual man. 

An  attempt  of  the  same  nature  was  made  -;ry  soon  after- 
wards in  England,  by  Alfred  the  Great. 

These  are  some  of  the  means  which  were  in  operation,  from 
the  filth  to  the  ninth  century,  in  various  parts  of  Europe 
vhich  seemed  likely  to  put  an  end  to  barbarism. 

None  of  them  succeeded.  Charlemagne  was  unable  lo  es- 
tablish his  great  empire,  and  the  system  of  government  by 
nrhich  he  wished  to  ri.le  it.     The  church  succeeded  no  better 


60  OENERAL     HI8T0RV    OK 

in  its  attempt  in  Spain  to  found  a  system  of  theocracy.  And 
though  in  Italy  and  the  south  of  France,  Roman  civilization 
made  several  attempts  to  raise  its  head,  it  was  not  till  a  later 
period,  till  towards  the  end  of  the  tenth  century,  that  it  in 
reality  acquired  any  vigor.  Up  to  this  time,  every  effort  to  pul 
an  end  to  barharism  failed :  they  supposed  men  more  advan- 
ced than  they  in  reality  were.  They  all  desired,  under  va- 
rious formSj  to  establish  a  society  more  extensive,  or  bettei 
regulated,  than  the  spirit  of  the  age  was  prepared  for.  The 
attempts,  however,  were  not  lost  to  mankind.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  the  tenth  century,  there  was  no  longer  any  visi- 
ble appearance  of  the  great  empire  of  Charlemagne,  nor  of  the 
glorious  councils  of  Toledo,  but  barbarism  was  drawing  nigh 
its  end.     Two  great  results  were  obtained  : 

1.  The  movement  of  the  invading  hordes  had  been  stopped 
coth  in  the  north  and  in  the  south.  Upon  the  dismemberment 
.f  the  empire  of  Charlemagne,  the  states,  which  became 
formed  upon  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine,  opposed  an  eflectual 
barrier  to  the  tribes  which  advanced  from  the  west.  The 
Danes  and  Normans  are  an  incontestable  proof  of  tliis.  Up 
to  this  time,  if  we  except  the  Saxon  attacks  upon  England, 
the  invasions  of  the  German  tribes  by  sea  had  not  been  very 
considerable :  but  in  the  course  of  the  ninth  century  ihey  be 
came  constant  and  general.  And  this  happened,  because  in- 
vasions by  land  had  become  exceedingly  difficult ;  society  had 
acquired,  on  this  side,  frontiers  nore  fixed  and  secure  ;  and 
that  portion  of  the  wandering  nations,  which  could  not  be 
pressed  back,  were  at  least  turned  from  their  ancient  course, 
and  compelled  to  proceed  by  sea.  Great  as  undoubtedly  was 
the  misery  occasioned  to  the  west  of  Europe  by  the  incur- 
sions of  these  pirates  and  nnuauders,  they  still  were  nnich 
less  hurtful  than  the  invasions  by  land,  and  disturbed  much 
less  generally  the  newly-forming  society.  In  the  soutli,  the 
case  was  much  the  same.  The  Arabs  had  settled  in  Spain 
and  the  struggle  between  them  and  the  Christians  still  con- 
tinued ;  but  this  occasioned  no  new  emigration  of  nations 
IJands  of  Saracens  still,  from  time  to  time,  infested  the  coc^stt 
of  the  Mediterranean,  but  the  great  career  of  Islamism  wa; 
arrested. 

2.  In  the  interior  ot  Europe  we  begin  at  this  time  to  nee 
the  wandering  life  aedine  •  oopidations  became  fixed  ;  etitatci 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  81 

ind  landed  possessions  became  settled  ;  the  relations  between 
man  and  man  no  longer  varied  from  day  to  day  under  the  in- 
fluence of  force  or  chance.  The  interior  and  moral  condi- 
tion of  man  himself  began  to  undergo  a  change  ;  his  ideas 
bis  sentiments,  began,  like  his  life,  to  assume  a  more  fixed 
fharactcr.  He  began  to  feel  an  attachment  to  the  place  ii. 
nliich  he  dwelt;  to  the  connexions  and  associations  which  he 
hero  formed ;  to  those  domains  which  he  now  calculated 
flpor.  leaving  to  his  children  ;  to  that  dwelling  which  hereafter 
became  his  castle  ;  to  that  miserable  assemblage  of  serfs  and 
slaves,  which  was  one  day  to  become  a  village.  Little  socie- 
ties everywhere  began  to  be  formed;  little  states  to  be  cut 
out  according  to  the  measure,  if  I  may  so  say,  of  the  capaci- 
ties and  prudence  of  men.  There,  societies  gradually  became 
connected  by  a  tie,  the  origin  of  which  is  to  be  found  in  the 
manners  of  the  German  barbarians  :  the  tie  of  a  confederation 
which  would  not  destroy  individual  freedom.  On  one  side 
.ve  find  every  considerable  proprietor  settling  himself  in  his 
domains,  surrounded  only  by  his  family  and  retainers ;  on  the 
other,  a  certain  graduated  subordination  of  services  and  rights 
existing  among  ail  these  military  proprietors  scattered  over  the 
land.  Here  we  have  the  feudal  system  oozing  at  last  out  of 
(he  bosom  of  barbarism.  Of  the  various  elements  of  our  civi- 
lizations, it  was  natural  enough  that  the  Germanic  element 
should  first  prevail.  It  was  already  in  possession  of  power ; 
it  had  conquered  Europe :  from  it  European  civilization  was 
to  receive  its  first  form — its  first  social  organization. 

The  character  of  this  form — the  character  of  feudalism, 
and  the  influence  it  has  exercised  upon  European  civilization 
— will  be  the  object  of  my  next  lecture  ;  while  in  the  very 
bosom  of  this  system,  in  its  meridian,  we  shall,  at  every 
step,  meet  with  the  other  elements  of  our  own  social  system, 
monarchy,  the  church,  and  the  communities  or  free  citim. 
We  shall  feel  pre-assured  tliat  these  were  not  destined  to  fall 
under  this  feudal  form,  to  which  they  adapted  themselves 
while  struggling  against  it;  and  that  we  may  look  forward 
*!)  the  hour  when  victory  ivill  declare  itself  for  them  in  iluii 
turn. 


f  ECTURE  IV 


THE    FEUDAL    SYSTEM. 


I  HAVE  thus  far  endeavored  to  give  you  a  view  of  'ho  stale 
oi  Europe  upon  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire  ;  of  iis  .state  in 
the  fir&^  pt-riod  of  modern  history — in  the  period  of  barbarism. 
We  have  seen  that  at  the  end  of  the  period,  towards  the  be- 
ginning of  the  tenth  century,  the  first  principle,  the  first  sys- 
tem, which  took  possession  of  European  society,  was  the  feu- 
dal system — that  out  of  the  veiy  bosom  of  barbarism  sprung 
feudalism.  The  investigation  of  this  system  will  be  the  sub- 
ject of  the  present  lecture. 

1   need  scarcely  remind  you  that  it  is  not  the  liistory  of 
events,  properly  so  called,  that  we  propose  to  consider.     1 
shall  not  here  recount  the  destinies  of  the  feudal  system.  The 
'>ubject  which  engages  our  attention  is  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion ;  it  is  tnat  general,  hidden  fact,  which  we  have  to  seek 
tor,  out  of  ail  the  exterior  facts  in  which  its  exi.stenco  ia 
;;ontained. 
^If  Thus   the    events,   the  social  crisises,  the   various   state's 
hrough  which  society  has  passed,  will  in  no  way  interest  us, 
jxcept  so  far  as  iney  are  connected  with  the  growth  of  civili- 
zation ;  we  have  only  to  learn  from  them  how  they  have  re- 
tarded or  forwaraeu  this  great  work;  what  they  have  given  it, 
, ,  and  what  they  have  withheld  from  it.     It  is  only  in  this  poini 
^\  of  view  that  we  shad  consider  the  feudal  system. 

In  the  first  of  these  lectures  we  settled  wliat  civilization 
waa  i  we  endeavored  to  discover  its  elements ;  we  saw  that 
\t  consisted,  on  one  side,  in  thp  development  of  man  himself, 
if  the  individual,  of  humanity;  on  the  other,  of  his  outward 
-if  social  condition.  VVI.en  then  we  come  to  any  event,  to  any 
ijystem,  to  any  general  condition  of  society,  we  have  this  two- 
fold question  to  put  to  it :  What  lias  it  done  for  or  against  tlic 
Jevelopment  of  man — for  or  against  the  development  of  so- 
niely  1     It  wiil,  however,  be  at  once  seen  that,  in  the   inves 


oiyii.i7;ATroN  in  modern   furope.  gg 

(i  fat  ion  \\p:  )i:ivo  uiulortrikcn,  it  will  he  impossililo  for  us  no? 
to  cOMio  in   contact  with  some  of  the  grandest  questions  in 
moral  piiil(»sophy.      When   we   would,  for  example,  know  in 
what  an   event,  a  system,  has  contrihuted  to  the  progress  of 
man  and  of  society,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  know  who'  \\ 
is  the  true  development  of  society  and  of  man  ;   and   be  en    /) 
allied  to  detect  those  developments   which  are  deceitful,  \\\e-  / 
gitiinate, — which  pervert  instead  of  meliorate, — which  causey 
Ihein  to  retrograde  instead  of  to  advance.     We  shall   cot  at<^ 
tempt  to  elude  tliis  task.     I3y  so  doing  wc  should  mutilate 
and   weaken  our  ideas,  as  well  as  the  facts  themselves.      Be- 
sides, the  present  state  of  the  vvorld,  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
compels  us  at  once  fraidcly  to  welcome  this  inevitable  alliance 
of  pliilosophy  and  history. 

This  indeed  forms  a  striking,  perhaps  the  essential,  char- 
acteristic of  the  present  times.      We  are  now  compelled  to 
consider — science   and   reality — theory   and    practice — right 
and  fact — and  to  make  them  move  side  by  side.   Down  to  the 
present  time  these  two  powers  have  lived  apart.     The  world 
lias  been  accustomed  to  see  theory  and  practice  following  two 
dilTerent  routes,  unknown  to  each  other,  or  at    least  never  \ 
meeting.     When  doctrines,  when  general  ideas,  have  wished     \ 
o  intermeddle  in  affairs,  to  influence  the  world,  it  has  only      \ 
been  able  to  effect  this  under  the  appearance  and  by  the  aid 
of  fanaticism.     Up  to  the  present  time  the  government  of  hu- 
man societies,  the  direction  of  their  affairs,  have  been  divided 
between  two  sorts  of  influences  ;  on  one  side  theorists,  men      ' 
who  would  rule  all  according  to  abstract  notions — enthusiasts  ;     ; 
on  tlie  other,  men  ignorant  of  all  rational  principle, — experi-    / 
meniaiists,  whose  oidy  guide  is  expediency.     This  state  of  / 
things  is  now  over.     The  vvoi  d  will  no  longer  agitate  for  tho 
sake  of  some  abstract  principle,  some  fanciful  theory — some 
Utopian  go\'ernmen.  which  can  only  exist  in  the  imagination 
of  an  enthusip^r, ;  noT  will  it  put  up  with  practical  abuses  and 
oppro'isions,  however  favored  by  prescription  and  expediency, 
wher'f  they  are  opposed  to  the  just  principles  and  the  legiti« 
mate  end  of  government.     To  ensure  respect,  to  obtain  con- 
fident'C,  governing  powers  must  now  unite  theory  and  prac- 
tice :    hey  must  know  and  acknowledge  the  influence  of  both. 
'I  hey  must  regard  as  well  principles  as  facts  ;  must  respect 
oolfi  truth  and  necessity — must  shun,  on  one  hand,  the  blind 
pride  '»f  tho  fanatic  theorist,  and.  on  the  other,  the  no  less 


a  GENERAL    HlbTORY    OP 

blind  pride  of  the  libertine  practician.  To  thib  better  state  of 
things  we  have  been  brought  by  the  progress  of  the  human 
niinil  anil  the  progress  of  society.  On  one  side  tlie  huiiiar. 
inind  is  so  elevated  and  enlarged  that  it  is  able  to  view  nl 
once,  as  a  whole,  the  subject  or  fact  which  comes  undei  itp 
notice  v*  ith  all  the  various  circumstances  and  principles  which 
tflecl  it — these  it  calculates  and  combines — it  so  opposes, 
liixes,  and  arranges  them — that  while  the  everlasting  principle 
Im  p'aced  boldly  and  prominently  forward  so  as  not  to  be  mis- 
liken,  care  is  taken  that  it  shall  not  be  endangered,  that  its 
progress  shall  not  be  retarded  by  a  negligent  or  rash  estimato 
of  the  circumstances  which  oppose  it.  On  the  other  side, 
social  systems  are  so  improved  as  no  longer  to  shrink  from 
the  light  of  truth  ;  so  improved,  that  facts  may  be  brought  to 
the  test  of  science — practice  may  be  placed  by  the  side  of 
theory,  and,  notwithstanding  its  many  imperfections,  the  com- 
parison will  excite  in  us  neither  discouragement  nor  disgust. 
'  1  shall  give  way,  then,  freely  to  this,  natural  tendency — to 
'this  spirit  of  the  age,  by  passing  continually  from  the  investi- 
gation of  circumstances  to  the  investigation  of  ideas — from 
an  exposition  of  facts  to  the  consideration  of  doctrines  Per- 
haps there  is,  in  the  present  disposition  of  the  public,  anothei 
reason  in  favor  of  this  method.  For  some  time  past  there  has 
existed  among  us  a  decided  taste,  a  sort  of  predilection  foi 
facts,  for  looking  at  things  in  a  practical  point  of  view.  We 
have  been  so  much  a  prey  to  the  despotism  of  abstract  ideas 
of  theories, — they  have,  in  some  respects,  cost  us  so  dear, 
'hat  we  now  regard  them  with  a  degree  of  distrust.  We  like 
betior  to  refer  to  facts,  to  particular  circumstances,  and  to  judge 
?nd  act  accordingly.  Let  us  not  complain  of  this.  It  is  a 
new  advance — it  is  a  grand  step  in  knowledge,  and  towards 
the  empire  of  truth  ;  provided,  however,  we  do  not  sufl'er  our- 
Behes  to  be  carried  too  far  by  this  disposition — provided  thai 
we  do  not  forget  that  truth  alone  has  a  right  to  reign  in  the 
world  ;  that  facts  have  no  merit  but  in  proportion  as  they  beai 
(ts  stamp,  and  assimilate  themselves  more  and  more  to  its 
image  ;  that  all  true  grandeur  proceeds  from  mind ;  that  sll 
expansion  belongs  to  it.  The  civilization  of  F'rance  posseso* 
Wj  fhis  peculiar  character  •  it  has  never  been  wanting  in  in- 
t'llcctual  grandeur.  It  has  always  been  rich  in  ideas.  The 
power  of  mind  has  been  great  in  French  society — greater, 
jjerhaps,  than  anywhere  else.  It  must  not  lose  this  happv 
^wivilege-  it  must  not  fall  into   hat  lower,  that  somewhat  mu 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  86 

erial  condition  which  prevails  in  other  societies.  lntelli« 
^eiice,  llieorios,  must  still  maintain  in  France  the  same  rank 
which  thoy  have  hitherto  occupied. 

I  shall  not  then  attempt  to  shun  'hese  general  and  philo- 
sophical questions  :  I  will  not  go  out  of  my  way  to  seek  thent, 
but  when  circumstances  bring  them  naturally  before  me,  I 
shall  attack  them  without  hesitation  or  embarrassment.  Thia 
will  be  the  case  more  than  once  in  considering  the  feudal 
Bystein  as  connected  with  the  history  of  Eur'^pean  civilization 


A  great  proof  that  in  the  tenth  century  the  feudal  system 
was  necessary,  and  the  only  social  system  practicable,  is  the 
universality  of  its  adoption.  Wherever  barbarism  ceascJ, 
feudalism  became  general.  This  at  first  struck  men  as  the 
triumph  of  chaos.  All  unity,  all  general  civilization  seemed 
gone  ;  society  on  all  sides  seemed  dismembered  ;  a  multitui'd 
of  petty,  obscure,  isolated,  incoherent  societies  arose.  Thio 
appeared,  to  those  who  lived  and  saw  it,  universal  anarchy — 
tlie  dissolution  of  all  things.  Consult  the  poets  and  historians 
of  tlie  day  :  they  all  believed  that  the  end  of  the  world  was  at 
hand.  Yet  this  was,  in  truth,  a  new  and  real  social  system 
which  was  forming :  feudal  society  was  so  necessary,  so  in- 
evitable, so  altogether  the  only  consequence  that  could  flow 
from  the  previous  state  of  things,  that  all  entered  into  it,  all 
adopted  its  form.  Even  elements  the  most  foreign  to  this 
system,  the  church,  the  free  communities,  royalty,  all  were 
constrained  to  accommodate  themselves  to  it.  Churches  be- 
came sovereigns  and  vassals  ;  cities  became  lords  and  vas- 
sals ;  royalty  was  hidden  under  the  feudal  suzerain.  All 
things  were  given  in  fief,  not  only  estates,  but  rights  and  pri- 
vileges :  the  right  to  cut  wood  in  the  forests,  the  privilege  of 
fishing.  The  churches  gave  their  surplice-fees  in  fief:  the 
revenues  of  baptism — the  fees  for  churching  women.  In  the 
same  manner,  too,  that  all  the  great  elements  of  society  wero 
drawn  within  the  feudal  enclosure,  so  even  the  smallest  poi' 
lions,  the  most  trifling  circumstances  of  common  life,  became 
aubjcct  to  feudalism. 

In  observing  the  feudal  system  thus  taking  possession  of 
cveiy  part  of  society,  one  might  be  apt,  at  first,  to  believe 
that  the  essential,  vital  principle  of  feudalism  everywhere  pre- 
vailed.    This  would  be  a  grand  mistake.     Although  tliey  pu 


^6  GENERAL    H/STORY    OP 

on  the  feudal  form,  yet  the  institutions,  the  elements  ol  eo- 
ciety  which  were  not  analogous  to  the  feuda!  sys'.uin,  did  not 
lose  their  nature,  the  principles  by  which  they  uere  discin 
guished  The  feudal  church,  for  example,  never  ceased  11) 
a  moment  to  be  anmiated  and  gc  verned  at  bottom  by  tlie  prin- 
ciples of  theocracy,  and  she  never  for  a  moment  relaxed  hei 
endeavors  to  gain  for  this  the  predominancy.  Now  she 
oagued  with  royalty,  now  with  the  pope,  and  now  with  the 
people,  to  destroy  this  system,  whose  livery,  for  the  time,  slie 
was  compelled  to  put  on.  It  was  the  same  with  royalty  and 
the  free  cities  :  in  one  the  principle  of  monarchy,  in  tlie  others 
the  piinciple  of  democracy,  continued  funtiiinentally  to  pre- 
vail: and,  notwithstanding  their  feudal  appearance,  these  va- 
rious elements  of  European  society  constantly  labored  to  de- 
liver themselves  from  a  form  so  foreign  to  their  nature,  and 
lo  put  on  that  which  corresponded  with  their  true  and  vital 
principle. 

Though  perfectly  satisfied,  therefore,  of  the  universality  of 
the  feudal  y6(/7n,  we  must  take  care  not  to  conclude  on  that  ac- 
count, that  the  feudal  principle  was  equally  universal.  We 
must  be  no  less  cautious  not  to  take  our  ideas  of  feudalism 
indifferently  from  every  object  which  bears  its  physiognomy. 
In  order  to  know  and  understand  this  system  thoroughly — to 
unravel  and  judge  of  its  effects  upon  modern  civilization — we 
must  seek  it  where  the  form  and  spirit  dwell  together  ;  we 
must  study  it  in  the  hierarchy  of  the  laic  possessors  of  fiefs 
in  the  association  of  the  conquerors  of  the  European  territory. 
This  was  the  true  residence  of  the  feudal  system,  and  into 
this  we  will  now  endeavor  to  penetrate. 

I  said  a  few  words,  just  now,  on  the  importance  of  ques- 
tions of  a  moral  nature  ;  and  on  the  danger  and  inconvenience 
of  passing  them  by  without  proper  attention.  A  matter  of  a 
Jotally  opj)osile  character  arises  here,  and  demands  our  con- 
sideration ,  it  is  one  which  has  been,  in  general,  loo  mucli 
neglected.  I  allude  to  the  physical  condition  of  society ;  to 
the  changes  which  take  place  in  the  life  and  manners  of  a 
people  in  consequence  of  some  new  event,  some  revolution, 
6ome  new  state  into  which  it  may  be  thrown.  These  changes 
have  not  always  been  sufficiently  attended  to.  The  modifica- 
tion which  these  great  crisises  in  the  history  of  the  world 
have  wrought  in  ihe  material  existence  of  mankind — in  the 
physical  conditions  if  'he  relations  of  nuiu  lo  one  another— 


CIVILIZAriON    IN    MODERN    KUROPE.  81 

nave  not  been  investigated  with  so  much  advantage  as  the) 
might  have  been.  These  modifications  have  more  influence 
apon  the  general  body  of  society  than  is  imagined.  Every  one 
knows  how  much  has  been  said  upon  the  influence  of  climate, 
and  of  ilie  importance  which  Montesquieu  attached  to  it. 
Now  if  we  regard  only  the  direct  influence  of  climate  upon 
man,  perhaps  it  has  not  been  so  extensive  as  is  gencrallj  sup- 

Eosed  ;  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  vague  and  difllcult  to  appreciate  ; 
ut  the  indirect  influence  of  climate,  that,  for  example,  which 
arises  from  the  circumstance  that  in  a  hot  country  man  lives 
in  the  open  air,  while  in  a  cold  one  he  lives  shut  up  in  his 
habitation— that  he  lives  here  upon  one  kind  of  food,  and 
there  upon  another,  are  facts  of  extreme  importance  ;  inas- 
much as  a  simple  change  in  physical  life  may  have  a  power- 
ful eflect  upon  the  course  of  civilization.  Every  great  revolu- 
tion leads  to  modifications  of  this  nature  in  the  social  system, 
and  consequently  claims  our  consideration. 

The  establishment  of  the  feudal  system  wrought  a  change  \ 
of  this  kind,  wliicli  had  a  powerful  and  striking  influence  upon     \ 
European   civilization.      It  changed    the    distribution  of   the       \ 
population.     Hitherto  the  lords  of  the  territory,  the  conquer-        \ 
ing  population,  had   lived   united  in  masses  more  or  less  nu- 
merous, either  settled  in  cities,  or  moving  about  the  country 
in  bands  ,  but  by  the  operation  of  the  feudal  system  these  men 
were  brought  to  live  isolated,  each  in  his  own  dwelling,  at 
long  distances  apart.     You  will  instantly  perceive  the  influ-        j 
ence  which  this  change  must  have  exercised  upon  the  charac-      / 
ter  and  progress  of  civilization.     The  social  preponderance —      ' 
the  government  of  society,  passed  at  once  from  cities  to  the 
country ;  the  baronial  courts  of  the  great  landed  proprietors 
took  the  place  of  the  great  national  assemblies — the  public 
body  was  lost  in  the  thousand  little  sovereignties  into  which 
every  kingdom  was  split.     This  was  the  first  consequence — ■ 
a  cgnsequence  purely  physical,  of  the  triumph  of  the  feiidal 
system.     The  more  closely  we  examine  this   circumstance, 
the  more  clearly  and  forcibly  will  its  effects  present  them- 
selves to  our  notice. 

Let  us  now  examine  this  society  in  itself,  and  trace,  out  its 
Influence  upon  the  progress  of  civilization.  We  will  take 
feudalism,  in  the  first  place,  in  its  most  simple  state,  in  its 
primitive  fundamental  form.     We  will  visit  a  j«s<!essor  of  a 


88  GENERAL    HISTORY     01' 

fief  in  his  li»nely  domain,  we  will  see  the  coiase  of  life 
which  he-  leads  there,  and  the  little  society  by  which  he  is 
surrounded. 

Having  fixed  upon  an  elevated  solitary  spot,  strong  by  nu 
lure,  and  which  he  takes  care  to  render  secure,  the  lordly 

Eioprietor  of  the  doniaifi  builds  his  castle.  Here  he  settles 
imself,  with  his  wife  ajid  children,  and  perhaps  some  few 
freemen,  who,  not  having  obtained  fiefs,  not  having  themselves 
become  proprietors,  have  attached  themselves  to  his  fortunes, 
and  continued  to  live  with  him  and  form  a  part  of  his  house- 
hold. These  are  the  inhabitants  of  the  interior  of  the  castle. 
At  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  this  castle  stands  we  find 
huddled  together  a  little  population  of  peasants,  of  serfs,  who 
cultivate  the  lands  of  the  possessor  of  the  fief.  In  the  midst 
of  this  group  of  cottages  religion  soon  planted  a  churcli  and  a 
priest.  A  priest,  in  these  early  days  of  feudalism,  was  gene- 
rally the  chaplain  of  the  baron,  and  the  curate  of  the  village  . 
two  ollices  which  by  and  by  became  separated,  and  llie  vil 
lage  had  its  pastor  dwelling  by  the  side  of  his  church. 

(Such  is  the  first  form,  the  elementary  principle,  of  feudal 
society.  We  will  now  examine  this  simple  form,  in  order  to 
put  to  it  llie  twofold  question  we  liave  to  ask  of  every  fact, 
namely,  what  it  has  done  towards  the  progress — first,  of  man, 
himself;  secondly,  of  society? 
r  It  is  with  peculiar  propriety  that  we  put  this  twofold  ques- 
I  tion  to  the  little  society  I  have  just  described,  and  that  wc 
1  should  attach  importance  to  its  answers,  forasmuch  as  this  so- 
ciety is  the  type,  the  faithful  picture,  of  feudal  society  in  the 
aggregate  ;  the  baron,  the  people  of  his  domain,  and  the  priest, 
compose,  wliether  upon  a  large  or  smaller  scale,  the  leudal 
system  when  separated  from  monarchy  and  cities,  two  dis- 
tinct and  foreign  elements. 


The  first  circumstance  which  strikes  us  in  lookmg  at  this 
little  community  is  the  great  importance  with  which  the  pos- 
aesior  of  the  fief  must  have  been  regarded,  not  only  by  lum 
kp.lf,  bu  by  all  around  him.  A  feeling  of  personal  conse- 
quence, of  individual  liberty,  was  a  prevailing  feature  in  th«« 
character  of  the  barbarians.  The  feeling  here,  however,  wa," 
^1   a  diiferent  nature  ;  it  was  no  longer  simply  the  lil)erty  of 


CIVILIZATION    >N    MODERN     KUKOPE.  89 

ne  m<ir,  of  the  warrior,  it  was  the  jni\iortaiice  of  tlic  proprie- 
ior,  of  the  head  of  the  family,  of  the  master.  His  situation, 
with  regard  to  all  around  him,  would  naturally  beget  in  him 
an  idea  of  superiority — a  superiority  of  a  peculiar  nature,  and 
very  dilferent  from  that  we  meet  with  in  other  systems  of 
civilization.  Look,  for  example,  at  the  Roman  patrician,  who 
was  placed  in  one  of  the  highest  aristocratic  situations  of  the 
ancient  world.  Like  the  feudal  lord,  he  was  head  of  the 
family,  suocrior,  master ;  and  besides  this,  he  was  a  religioua 
niajiistrate,  high  priest  over  his  household.  But  mark  ihe 
did'erence  :  his  importance  as  a  religious  magistrate  is  do- 
rived  from  without.  It  is  not  an  importance  strictly  personal, 
attached  to  the  individual :  he  receives  it  from  on  high ;  he  i.s 
the  delegate  of  divinity,  the  interpreter  of  religious  faith.  The 
Roman  patrician,  moreover,  was  the  member  of  a  corporation 
which  lived  united  in  the  same  place — a  member  of  the  sen- 
ate— again,  an  importance  which  he  derived  from  without: 
from  his  corporation.  The  greatness  of  these  ancient  arislo-^^ 
crats,  associated  to  a  religious  and  political  character,  belonged 
to  the  situation,  to  the  corporation  in  general,  rather  than  to 
the  individual.  That  of  the  proprietor  of  a  fief  belonged  to 
himself  alone  ;  he  held  nothing  of  any  one  ;  all  his  rights,  all 
his  power,  centred  in  himself.  He  is  no  religious  magis- 
trate ;  he  forms  no  part  of  a  senate  ;  it  is  in  the  individual,  in 
his  own  person,  that  all  his  importance  resides — all  that  he  is, 
he  is  of  himself,  in  his  own  name  alone.  What  a  vast  in- 
fluence must  a  situation  like  this  have  exercised  over  him  who 
enjoyed  it!  What  haughtiness,  what  pride,  must  it  have  en- 
gendered !  Above  him,  no  superior  of  whom  he  was  but  the 
representative  and  interpreter  ;  near  him  no  equals  ;  no  gene- 
ral and  powerful  law  to  restrain  him — no  exterior  force  to 
control  him  ;  his  will  suffered  no  check  but  from  the  limits  of 
his  power,  and  the  presence  of  danger.  Such  seems  to  me 
the  moral  effect  that  would  naturally  be  produced  upon  the 
character  or  disposition  of  man,  by  the  situation  in  which  he 
» 18  placed  under  the  feudal  system. 

I  shall  proceed  to  a  second  consequence  equally  important, 
•hough  too  little  noticed  ;  I  mean  the  peculiar  cliaracter  of  the 
l;udal  family 

Let  us  consider  for  a  moment  the  various  family  systems 


90  GLNERAI     KISTOR*     Of 

Let  us  look,  in  the  first  place,  at  the  patriarclw.l  family,  ol 
which  so  beautiful  a  picture  is  g'iven  us  in  the  Bible,  and  in 
numerous  OrientE.1  treatises.  We  lind  it  composed  of  a  grt  il 
number  of  individuals-  it  was  a  tribe.  The  chief,  ihe  pa- 
triarch, in  this  case,  lives  in  common  with  his  children,  with 
his  neighbors,  with  the  various  generations  assembled  around 
feim — all  his  relations  or  his  servants.  He  not  oidy  lives  with 
lliern,  he  has  tlie  san.e  interests,  the  same  occupations,  he 
leads  the  same  life.  This  was  the  situation  of  Al)raham,  and 
of  the  patriarchs  ;  and  is  still  that  of  the  Bedouin  Arabs,  who, 
from  generation  to  generation,  continue  to  follow  tlTe  same 
patriarchal  mode  of  life. 

Let  us  look  next  at  the  clan — another  family  system,  A'hich 
now  scarcely  exists,  except  in  Scotland  and  Ireland,  but 
through  which  probably  the  greater  part  of  the  European 
world  has  passed.  This  is  no  longer  the  patriarciial  family. 
A  great  diflerence  is  found  here  between  the  chief  and  the 
rest  of  the  community ;  he  leads  not  the  same  life  ;  the  great- 
er  part  are  employed  in  husbandry,  and  in  supplying  his 
wants,  while  the  chief  himself  lives  in  idleness  or  war.  Still 
ihey  all  descend  from  the  same  stock  ;  they  all  bear  the  same 
name  ;  and  their  common  parentage,  their  ancient  traditions, 
the  same  remembrances,  and  the  same  associations,  create 
a  moral  tie,  a  sort  of  equality,  between  all  the  members  ol 
'\     the  clan. 

These  are  the  two  principal  forms  of  family  society  as  re- 
presented by  history.  Does  either  of  them,  let  me  ask  you, 
resemble  the  feudal  family?  Certainly  not.  At  the  lirsl 
glance,  there  may,  indeed,  seem  some  similarity  between  the 
feudal  family  and  the  clan  ;  but  the  diflerence  is  marked  and 
striking.  The  population  which  surrounds  the  possessor  of 
the  fief  is  quite  foreign  to  him  ;  il  bears  not  his  name.  They 
aiu  unconnected  by  relationship,  or  by  any  historical  or  moral 
tie.  The  same  holds  with  respect  to  the  patriarchal  family. 
The  feudal  proprietor  neither  leads  the  same  life,  nor  follows 
the  same  occupations  as  those  who  live  around  him  ;  ho  is 
engaged  in  arms,  or  lives  in  idleness  :  the  others  are  laborers. 
/  riie  feudal  family  is  not  numerous — it  forms  no  tribe — it  ia 
j  confined  to  a  single  family  properly  so  called;  to  the  wito 
and  children,  wlio  live  scj.iarated  from  the  rest  of  the  people 
I   in  the  interior  of  the  castle.     The  peasantry  and  serfs  foriu 


\ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  91 

no  i>art  of  it ;  they  are  of  another  origin,  and  immeasurably 
beneath  if.  Five  or  six  individuals,  at  a  vast  height  above  them, 
and  at  iho  same  time  foreigners,  make  up  the  feudal  family. 
Is  it  not  evident  that  the  peculia;ity  of  its  situation  mujt  liavo 
given  to  this  family  a  peculiar  character  ?      Confined,  concen- 
trated, cal'^^  upon  continually  to  defend  itself;  mistrusting, 
or  It  'cast  shutting  itself  up  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  even 
from  its  servants,  in-door  life,  domestic  manners  must  natural- 
ly have  ac(iuired  a  great  preponderance.     We  cannot  keep 
out  of  sight,  that  the  grosser  passions  of  »ho  chief,  the  con- 
stantly passing  his  time  in  warfare  or  hunting,  opposed  a  con- 
siderable obstacle  to  the  formation  of  a  strictly  domestic  so- 
ciety.    But  its   progress,   though   slow,  was    certain.     The 
chief,  however  violent  and  brutal  his  out-door  exercises,  must 
habitually  return  into  the  bosom  of  his  family.   He  there  finds 
his  wife  and  children,  and  scarcely  any  but  them  ;  they  alone 
are  his  constant  companions  ;  they  alone  divide  his  sorrows 
and  soften  his  joys ;  they  alone  are  interested  in  all  that  con- 
cerns him.     It  could  not  but  happen  in  such  circumstances, 
that  domestic  life  must  have  acquired  a  vast  influence  ;  nor  is 
there  any  lack  of  proofs  that  it  did  so.     Was  it  not  in  the 
bosom  of  the  feudal  family  that  the  importance  of  women,  that 
the  value  of  the  wife  and  mother,  at  last  made  itself  known  ^ 
In  none  of  the  ancient  communities,  not  merely  speaking  of 
those  in  which  the  spirit  of  family  never  existed,  but  in  those 
in  which  it  existed  most  powerfully — say,  for  example,  in  the 
patriarchal  system — in  none  of  these  did  women  ever  attain 
to  anything  like  the  place  which  they  acquired  in  Europe 
under  the  feudal  system.     It  is  to  the  progress,  to  the  pre- 
ponderance of  domestic   manners    in    the    feudal    halls    and 
castles,  that  they  owe  this  change,  this  improvement  in  their 
condition.     The  cause  of  this  has  been  sought  for  in  the  pe- 
culiar manners  of  the  ancient  Germans  ;  in  a  national  respect 
which  they  are  said  to  have  borne,  in  the  midst  of  their  for- 
ests, to  the  female  sex.     Upon  a  single  phrase  of  Tacitua, 
Germanic  patriotism  has  founded  a  high  degree  of  superiority 
— of  primitive  and  ineffable  purity  of  manners — in  the  rela- 
tions between  the  two  sexes    among    the    Germans.     Pure 
chimeras !      Phrases    like  this  of  Tacitus — sentiments    and 
customs  analogous  to  those  of  the  Germans  of  old,  arc  found 
m  the  narratives  of  a  host  of  writers,  who  have  seen,  or  in- 
quired  into,   the    manners  of   savage    and    barbarous    tribes. 
ITicre  is  nothing  primitive,  nothing  peculiar  to  a  certain  race 


/ 


92  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

in  thii  matter.  Ic  was  in  the  effects  of  a  very  ilecickd  ho 
cial  situation — it  was  in  the  increase  and  preponderanco  of 
domestic  manners,  that  the  importance  of  the  female  sex  in 
Europe  had  its  rise,  and  the  preponderance  of  domestic  niiin- 
ners  in  Europe  very  early  became  an  essential  characuiiistio 
m  the  feudal  system. 

A  second  circumstance,  a  fresh  proof  of  the  nfluence  of 
d»)mestic  life,  forms  a  striking  feature  in  the  picture  ol  a  tea 
dc.1  family  .  I  mean  the  principle  of  inheritance — the  spirit  of 
perpetuity  which  so  strongly  predominates  in  its  charai  cer 
This  spirit  of  inheritance  is  a  natural  off-shoot  of  the  spirit 
of  family,  but  it  nowhere  took  such  deep  root  as  in  the  leudal 
system,  where  it  was  nourished  by  the  nature  of  the  property 
with  which  the  family  was,  as  it  were,  incorporated,  'i'he 
fief  differed  from  other  possessions  in  this,  that  it  constantly 
required  a  chief,  or  owner,  wha  could  defend  it,  manage  it, 
ditcharge  the  obligations  by  which  it  was  held,  and  thus 
maintain  its  rank  in  the  general  association  of  the  great  pro- 
prietors of  the  kingdom.  There  thus  became  a  kind  of  iden- 
.ification  of  the  possessor  of  the  fief  with  the  fief  itself,  and 
with  all  its  future  possessors. 

This  circumstance  powerfully  tended  to  strengthen  and  knit 
together  the  ties  of  family,  already  so  strong  by  the  nature  of 
the  feudal  system  itself. 


Quitting  the  baronial  dwelling,  let  us  now  descend  to  the 
little  population  that  surrounds  it.  Everyihing  here  wears  a 
different  aspect.  The  disposition  of  man  is  so  kindly  and 
good,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  for  a  number  of  individuals 
to  be  placed  for  any  length  of  time  in  a  social  situation  with- 
out giving  birth  to  a  certain  moral  tio  between  them :  senti- 
ments of  protection,  of  benevolence,  of  alleclion,  spring  up 
naturally.  Thus  it  happened  in  the  feudal  system.  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  but  that  after  a  certain  time,  kind  and  friend- 
ly feelings  would  grow  up  between  the  feudal  lord  and  hi»'. 
serfs.  This,  however,  took  place  in  spite  of  their  relative 
situation,  and  by  no  means  through  its  influence.  Considered 
in  itself,  this  situation  was  radically  vicious.  There  was 
nothing  morally  conunon  between  the  holder  of  the  fief  and 
his  serfs.  Tlicy  formed  part  of  his  estate  ;  they  were  hia 
property;  and  under  this  word  property  arc  comprised,  not 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODKRN    KUROPE  93 

)nly  all  the  rights  whicli  we  delegate  to  the  public  /nagislrate 
o  exercise  in  the  name  of  the  state,  but  likewise  all  those 
Rhich  we  possess  over  private  property  :  the  right  of  making 
aws,  of  levying  taxes,  of  inflicting  punishment,  as  well  as 
that  of  disposing  of  them — or  selling  them.  There  existed 
not,  in  fact,  between  the  lord  of  the  domain  and  its  cultivators, 
so  fur  as  we  consider  the  latter  as  men,  either  rights,  guaran 
tec,  or  society. 

From  this  I  believe  has  arisen  that  almost  universal,  invin- 
cible hatred  which  country  people  have  at  all  times  borne  to 
the  feudal  system,  to  every  renuiant  of  it — to  its  very  pamo. 
We  are  not  without  examples  of  men  having  submitted  to  the 
hf>avy  yoke  of  despotism,  of  their  having  become  at  customed 
to  it,  nay  more,  of  their  having  freely  accepted  it.  Religious 
despotism,  monarchical  despotism,  have  more  than  once  ob 
tained  the  sanction,  almost  the  love,  of  the  population  whicli  > 
they  governed.  But  feudal  despotism  has  always  been  rc- 
nulsed,  always  hateful.  It  tyrannized  over  the  destinies  of 
men,  without  ruling  in  their  hearts.  Perhaps  this  may  bo 
partly  accounted  for  by  the  fact,  that,  in  religious  and  monar- 
chical despotism,  authority  is  always  exercised  by  virtue  of 
some  belief  or  opinion  common  to  both  ruler  and  subjects  ;  ho 
is  the  representative,  the  minister,  of  another  })ower  superior 
to  all  human  powers.  He  speaks  or  acts  in  the  name  of  Di- 
vinity or  of  a  common  feeling,  and  not  in  the  name  of  man 
himself,  of  man  alone.  Feudal  despotism  differed  from  this; 
it  was  the  authority  of  man  over  man  ;  the  domination  of  tho 
personal,  capricious  will  of  an  individual.  This  perhaps  is 
the  only  tyranny  to  which  man,  much  to  his  honor,  never  will 
»ulimit.  Wherever  in  a  ruler,  or  master,  he  sees  but  the  in 
dividual  man, — the  moment  that  the  authority  which  presses 
upon  liim  is  no  more  than  an  individual,  a  human  will,  one 
like  his  own,  he  feels  mortified  and  indignant,  and  struggles 
against  the  yoke  which  he  is  compelled  to  bear.  Such  was 
the  true,  the  distinctive  character  of  the  feudal  power,  and 
mch  was  the  origin  of  the  hatred  which  it  has  never  ceased 
In  inspire. 

The  re  igious  element  which  was  associated  with  the  feu 
dal  power  was  but  little  calculated  to  alleviate  its  yoke.  I 
lo  not  see  how  the  influence  of  the  priest  could  be  very  great 
111  the  society  which  I  have  just  described,  or  that  he  could 
Have  much  success  in  legitimizing  the  connexion  between  the 
enslaved  people  and  the  lordly  proprietor     The  r.hiirch  has  ex 


94  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

ercised  a  very  powerful  influence  in  the  civilizaiijn  of  Europo. 
but  then  It  has  been  by  proceeding  in  a  general  manner — b) 
changing  the  general  dispositions  of  mankind.  When  we  en 
ter  intimately  into  the  little  feudal  society,  properly  so  called, 
we  find  the  influence  of  the  priest  between  the  baron  and  liis 
»erfs  to  have  been  very  slight.  It  most  frequently  happened 
that  he  was  'uS  rude  and  nearly  as  much  under  control  as  the 
•  erf  himselt  ;  and  therefore  not  very  well  fitted,  either  by  his 
position  or  talei»ts,  to  enter  into  a  contest  with  the  lordly  ba- 
ron. We  must,  to  be  sure,  naturally  suppose,  that,  called  upon 
18  he  was  by  his  office  to  administer  and  to  kt?p  alive  amonu 
these  poor  people  the  great  moral  truths  of  Christianity,  he 
became  endeared  and  useful  to  them  in  this  respect ;  he  con- 
soled and  instructed  them  ;  but  I  believe  he  had  but  little 
power  to  soften  their  hard  condition. 


Having  examined  the  feudal  system  in  its  nulest,  its  sim 
plest  form  ;  having  placed  before  you  the  principal  conse- 
quences which  flowed  from  it,  as  respects  the  possessor  of 
the  fief  himself,  as  respects  his  family,  and  as  respects  the 
population  gathered  about  him ;  let  us  now  quit  this  narrow 
precinct.  The  population  of  the  fief  was  not  the  only  one  in 
the  land  :  there  were  other  societies  more  or  less  like  his 
own  of  which  he  was  a  member — with  which  he  was  con- 
nected. What,  then,  let  us  ask,  was  the  influence  which  this 
general  society  to  which  he  belonged  might  be  expected  to 
exercise  upon  civilization  ? 

One  short  observation  before  we  reply  :  both  the  possessoi 
of  the  fief  and  the  priest,  it  is  true,  formed  part  of  a  general 
society ;  in  the  distance  they  had  numerous  and  frequcni 
connexions  ;  not  so  tho  cultivators — the  serfs.  Every  time 
that,  in  speaking  of  the  population  of  the  country  at  this  pe- 
riod, we  make  use  of  some  general  term,  which  seems  to  con- 
vey tho  idea  of  one  single  and  same  society — such  ft)r  exaiU' 
pie  as  the  word  people — we  speak  without  truth.  For  thiii 
population  there  was  no  general  society — its  existence  waa 
purely  local.  Beyond  the  estate  in  which  they  dwelt,  the 
sen's  had  no  relations  whatever, — no  cormexion  eitlier  with 
persons,  things,  or  government.  For  them  there  existed  nc 
30mnion  destiny,  no  common  country — they  formed  not  a  na- 
tion. When  we  speak  of  the  feudal  association  as  a  wholti 
t  J8  only  the  great  proprietors  'ha»  are  alluded  to. 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN     I.UROI'E.  95 

Let  i.«  n  )w  see  what  the  relations  of  the  little  feudal  so 
uiefy  were  with  the  general  society  to  which  it  hei(j.  anJ 
what  consequences  these  relations  may  be  expected  to  have 
.ed  to  ill  the  progress  of  civilization. 

We  all  know  what  the  (es  were  which  bound  together  the 
pos!»o.sors  of  fiefs  ;  what  conditions  were  attached  to  theii 
possessions ;  what  were  the  obligations  of  service  on  one 
j?art,  and  of  protection  on  the  other.  I  sliall  not  enter  into  a 
detail  of  these  obligations  ;  it  is  enough  for  the  present  purpose 
that  you  have  a  general  idea  of  them.  This  system,  howevsr, 
Becined  naturally  to  pour  into  the  mind  of  every  possessor  of 
a  fief  a  certain  number  of  ideas  and  moral  sentiments — ideaj 
of  duty,  sentiments  of  afiection.  That  the  principles  of  fidelity, 
dcvotedness,  loyalty,  became  developed,  and  maintained  by 
tlie  relations  in  which  the  possessors  of  fiefs  stood  towardi' 
one  another,  is  evident.     The  fact  speaks  for  itself. 

The  attempt  was  made  to  change  these  obligations,  these 
duties,  these  sentiments,  and  so  on,  into  laws  and  institutions. 
It  is  well  Known  that  feudalism  wished  legally  to  settle  whi.i 
services  the  possessor  of  a  fief  owed  to  his  sovereign  ;  what 
services  he  had  a  right  to  expt  ^,t  from  him  in  return  ;  in  wha' 
cases  the  vassal  might  be  callet.  upon  to  furnish  military  ar 
pecuniary  aid  to  his  lord  ;  in  what  way  the  lord  might  obtain 
the  services  of  his  vassals,  in  those  afiairs,  in  which  they 
were  not  bound  to  yield  them  by  the  mere  possession  of  their 
fiefs.  The  attempt  was  made  to  place  all  these  rights  under 
the  protection  of  institutions  founded  to  ensure  their  respect. 
Thus  the  baronial  jurisdictions  were  erected  to  administer  jus- 
tice between  the  possessors  of  fiefs,  upon  complaints  duly  laid 
before  their  common  suzerain.  Thus  every  baron  of  any  coc- 
Bideration  collected  his  vassals  in  parliament,  to  debate  in 
common  the  afl^airs  which  required  their  consent  or  concu;- 
rence.  There  was,  in  short,  a  combination  of  political,  judi- 
cial, and  military  means,  which  show  the  attempt  to  organize 
the  feudal  system — to  convert  the  relations  between  the  pos- 
sessors of  fiefs  into  laws  and  institutions. 

But  these  laws,  these  institutions,  had  no  stability — no 
guarantee. 

If  it  should  be  asked  what  is  a  political  guarantee,  I  am 
jompelled  to  look  back  to  its  fundamental  character,  and  tc 
dtato  that  this  is  the  constant  txistence,  in  the  bosom  of  society, 
tl  a  will,  of  an  authority  disposed  and  in  a  condition  to  impose 


96  GENERAL    HISTORJf    OF 

a  law  upon  the  wills  and  powers"  of  private  individuals — u 
pTitbrce  their  obedience  to  the  comrnon  rule,  to  make  them 
respect  the  general  law. 

'Ihere  are  only  two  systems  of  political  guarantees  possi- 
ble ■  thc-e  must  be  either  a  will,  a  particular  power,  so  supe- 
rior to  the  others  thai  none  of  them  can  resist  it,  but  are  obliged 
to  j'ield  to  its  aulhority  whenever  it  is  interposed  ;  or,  on  ine 
itliur,  a  public  will,  the  result  of  the  concurrence — of  the  de- 
fclopment  of  the  wills  of  individuals,  and  which  likewise  is 
ill  a  condition,  when  once  it  has  expressed  itself,  to  make  it- 
Bt  If  obeyed  and  respected  by  all. 

These  are  the  oidy  two  systems  of  political  guarantees  pos- 
sible ;  the  despotism  of  one  alone,  or  of  a  body  ;  or  free  gov- 
ernment. If  we  examine  the  various  systems,  we  shall  lind 
that  they  may  all  be  brought  under  one  of  these  two. 

"Well,  neither  of  these  existed,  or  could  exist,  under  the 
feudal  system. 

"Without  doubt  the  possessors  of  fiefs  were  not  all  equal 
among  themselves.  There  were  some  much  more  powerful 
llian  otiiers  ;  and  very  many  sulliciently  powerful  to  oppress 
die  weaker.  But  there  was  none,  from  the  king,  the  first  of 
proprietors,  downward,  who  was  in  a  condition  to  impose  law 
upon  all  the  others  ;  in  a  condition  to  make  himself  obeyed. 
Call  to  mind  that  none  of  the  permanent  means  of  power  and 
infiuence  at  this  time  existed — no  standing  army — no  regular 
taxes — no  fixed  tribunals.  The  social  authorities — the  insti- 
tutions, had,  in  a  manner,  to  be  new  formed  every  time  they 
were  wanted.  A  tribunal  had  to  be  formed  for  every  trial — 
an  army  to  be  formed  for  every  war — a  revenue  to  be  formed 
every  time  that  money  was  needed.  All  was  occasional — 
accidental — special  ;  there  was  no  central,  permanent,  inde- 
pendent means  of  government.  It  is  evident  that  in  such  a 
system  no  individual  had  the  power  to  enforce  his  will  upon 
O'hers ;  to  compel  all  to  respect  and  obey  the  general  law. 

On  the  other  hand,  resistance  was  easy,  in  proportion  as 
repression  was  difficult.  Shut  up  in  his  castle,  with  but  a 
amall  number  of  enemies  to  cope  with,  and  aware  that  other 
vassals  in  a  like  situation  were  ready  to  join  and  assist  him, 
the  possessor  of  a  fief  found  but  little  difficulty  in  defending 
himself. 


VIVILIZATION    IN     MODERN     EUROPE.  97 

It  must  then,  I  tliink,  be  confessed,  tliat  the  first  system  of 
oolitical  guarantees — namely,  that  which  would  make  all  re- 
sponsible to  the  strongest — has  been  shown  to  be  impossible 
under  the  feudal  system. 

The  other  system — that  of  free  government,  of  a  publi ; 
oower,  a  public  authority— ^was  just  as  impracticable.  The 
reaaon  is  simple  enough.  When  we  speak  now  of  a  public 
rwwer,  of  what  we  call  the  rights  of  sovereignty — that  is,  the 
right  of  making  laws,  of  imposing  taxes,  of  inflicting  punish- 
ment, we  know,  we  bear  .n  mind,  that  these  rights  belong  to 
nobody  ;  that  no  one  has,  on  his  own  account,  the  right  to 
punish  others,  or  to  impose  any  burden  or  law  upon  them. 
These  are  rights  which  belong  only  to  the  great  body  of  so- 
ciety, which  are  exercised  only  in  its  name  ;  they  are  ema- 
nations from  the  people,  and  held  in  trust  for  their  benefit. 
Thus  it  happens  that  when  an  individual  is  brought  before  an 
authority  invested  with  these  rights,  the  sentiment  that  pre- 
dominates in  his  mind,  though  perhaps  he  himself  may  be  un- 
conscious of  it,  is,  that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  a  public  le- 
gitimate authority,  invested  with  the  power  to  command  him, 
an  authority  which,  beforehand,  he  has  tacitly  acknowledged. 
This  was  by  no  means  the  case  under  the  feudal  system. 
The  possessor  of  a  fief,  within  his  domain,  was  invested  with 
all  the  rights  and  privileges  of  sovereignty  ;  he  inherited  them 
*^ith  the  territory  ;  they  were  a  matter  of  private  property. 
What  are  now  called  public  rights  were  then  private  rights ; 
what  are  now  called  public  authorities  were  then  private  au- 
thorities. When  the  possessor  of  a  fief,  after  having  exercised 
sovereign  power  in  his  own  name,  as  proprietor  over  all  the 
population  which  lived  around  him,  attended  an  assembly,  at- 
tended a  parliament  held  by  his  sovereign — a  parliament  not 
in  general-  very  numerous,  and  composed  of  men  of  the  same 
grade,  or  nearly  so,  as  himself — he  did  not  carry  with  him  any 
notion  of  a  public  authority.  This  idea  was  in  direct  contra- 
diction to  all  about  him — to  all  his  notions,  to  all  that  he  had 
done  within  his  own  domains.  All  he  saw  in  these  assemblies 
were  men  in\-ested  with  the  same  rights  as  himself,  in  the 
same  situation  as  himself,  acting  as  he  had  done  by  virtue  of 
their  own  personal  title.  Nothing  led  or  compelled  him  to 
bco  or  acknowledge  in  the  very  highest  portion  of  the  govern- 
ment, or  ii:  the  institutions  which  we  call  public,  that  charac- 
ter of  superiority  or  generality  which  seems  to  us  bound  u^' 


98  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

jeiih  the  no.ion  ol  political  power.  Hence,  if  he  was  diswatis 
fied  with  its  decision,  he  refused  to  concur  in  it,  and  perhaps 
called  in  force  to  resist' it. 

Force,  indeed,  was  the  true  and  usual  guarantee  of  righ. 
under  the  feudal  s/stem,  J"  force  can  be  called  a  guarantee 
Every  law  continually  had  recourse  to  force  to  make  iiseH 
respected  ur  acknowledged.  No  institution  succeeded  unde; 
it.  This  was  so  perfectly  felt  that  institutions  were  scarcely 
liver  applied  to.  If  the  agency  of  the  baronial  courts  or  pal 
[iaments  of  vassals  had  been  of  any  iu)j)ortance,  we  should 
find  them  more  generally  employed  than  from  history,  they 
appear  to  have  been.  Their  rarity  proves  .heir  insignificance. 

This  is  not  astonishing.  There  is  another  reason  for  w 
more  profound  and  decisive  than  any  1  have  yet  adduced. 

Of  all  the  systems  of  government  and  political  guarantee 
it  may  be  asserted,  without  fear  of  contradiction,  that  the  most 
difficult  to  establish  and  render  eflectual  is  the  federative  sys- 
tem ;  a  system  which  consists  in  leaving  in  each  place  oi 
province,  in  every  separate  society,  all  that  portion  of  govern- 
ment which  can  abide  there,  and  in  taking  from  it  only  so 
much  of  it  as  is  indispensable  to  a  general  society,  in  order 
to  carry  it  to  the  centre  of  this  larger  society,  and  there  to 
imbody  it  under  the  form  of  a  central  government.  This 
federative  system,  theoretically  the  most  simple,  is  found  in 
practice  the  most  complex  ;  for  in  order  to  reconcile  the  de- 
gree of  independence,  of  local  liberty,  which  is  permitted  to 
remain,  with  the  degree  of  general  order,  of  general  submis- 
sion, which  in  certain  cases  it  supposes  and  exacts,  evidently 
requires  a  very  advanced  state  of  civilization — requires,  in- 
deed, that  the  will  of  man,  that  individual  liberty,  should  con- 
cur in  the  establishment  and  maintenance  of  the  system  much 
more  than  in  any  other,  because  it  possesses  less  than  any 
luher  the  means  of  coercion. 

The  federative  system,  then,  is  one  which  evidently  requires 
the  greatest  maturity  of  reason,  of  morality,  of  civili/atiou  in 
ino  society  tD  which  it  is  applied.  Yet  we  find  tliat  this  wae 
ihe  kind  of  government  which  the  feudal  system  attempted  to 
establish  :  for  feudalism,  as  a  whole,  was  truly  a  confedera- 
ion.  It  rested  upon  the  same  principles,  for  example,  at 
hose  or.  which  is  based,  in  the  present  day,  the  federative 
e78t3Tli  of  the  United  Stctes  of  America.  It  atfected  to  letvt'. 
in  Itie  hands  of  each  greai  proprietor  all  that  portion  of  tho 
e^vciiimoTJi,  of  sovereignt7,  which  could  be  exercised  thero 


CIMLIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  99 

»n(l  to  carry  U)  the  suzerain,  or  to  the  general  asscinhly  of  ha 
rons,  the  least  possible  portion  of  power,  and  only  this  in 
cases  of  absolute  necessity.  You  will  easily  conceive  the  im 
possibility  of  establishing  a  system  like  this  in  a  world  of 
Ignorance,  of  brute  passions,  or,  in  a  word,  where  the  rnorrj 
condition  of  man  was  so  imperfect  as  under  the  feudal  system 
The  very  nature  of  such  a  government  was  in  opposition  tn 
ihe  notions,  the  habits  and  manners  of  the  very  men  to  whom 
it  was  to  be  applied.  How  then  can  we  be  astonished  at  tho 
bad  success  of  this  attempt  at  organization  ? 


Wg  have  now  considered  the  feudal  systc.n,  first,  in  its 
most  simple  element,  in  its  fundamental  principle  ;  and  then 
in  its  collective  form,  as  a  whole  :  we  have  examined  it  under 
these  two  points  of  view,  in  order  to  see  what  it  did  %nd  what 
it  might  have  been  expected  to  do  ;  what  has  been  its  influence 
on  the  progress  of  civilization.  These  investigations,  I  think, 
bring  us  to  this  tvvofold  conclusion  : — 

1st.  Feudalism  seems  to  have  exercised  a  great,  and,  upon 
the  whole,  a  salutary  influence  upon  the  intellectual  develop- 
ment of  individuals.  It  gave  birth  to  elevated  ideas  and  feel- 
ings in  the  mind,  to  moral  wants,  to  grand  developments  of 
character  and  passion. 

2dly.  With  regard  to  society,  it  was  incapable  of  establish- 
ing either  legal  order  or  political  guarantee.  In  the  wretched 
state  to  which  society  had  been  reduced  by  barbarism,  in 
which  it  was  incapable  of  a  more  regular  or  enlarged  form, 
the  feudal  system  seemed  indispensable  as  a  step  towards  re- 
dssociation ;  still  this  system,  in  itself  radically  vicious,  could 
neither  regulate  nor  enlarge  society.  The  only  political  right 
v/hich  the  leudal  system  was  capable  of  exercising  in  Euro- 
pean society,  was  the  right  of  resistance  :  I  will  not  say  legal 
resistance,  for  there  can  be  no  question  of  legal  resistance  in 
a  society  so  little  advanced.  The  progress  of  society  con- 
sists pre-eminently  in  substituting,  on  one  hand,  public  au' 
tliority  for  private  will ;  and,  on  the  other,  legal  resistance  foi 
uidividual  resistance.  This  is  the  great  end,  the  chief  pei 
fection,  of  social  ordei  ;  a  large  field  is  left  to  personal  liber- 
ty, but  when  personal  liberty  offends,  when  it  becomes  neces- 
sary to  call  it  to  account,  our  only  appeal  is  to  public  reason, 
public  reason  is  placed  in  the  judge's  chair  to  pass  sentence 
an  the  charge  which  is  preferred  against  individual  lib<^rtv 

r 


100  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Such  is  the  system  of  legal  order  ard  of  legal  resistance 
You  will  easily  perceive,  that  there  was  nothing  1  earing  anj 
resemlilance  to  this  in  the  feudal  system.  'I'he  right  of  ro 
sistance,  which  was  maintained  and  practised  in  this  system 
was  fhe  right  of  personal  resistance  ;  a  terrible  and  anti-so- 
cial right,  inasmuch  as  its  only  appeal  i^s  to  brute  force — Ui 
war — which  is  the  destrut.tion  of  society  itself;  a  right,  how 
ever,  which  ought  never  to  be  entirely  erased  from  the  mind 
of  man,  because  by  its  abolition  he  puts  on  the  fetters  of  ser- 
ritude.  The  notion  of  the  right  of  resistance  had  been  ban- 
ished from  the  Roman  community,  by  the  general  disgrace 
and  infamy  into  which  it  had  fallen,  and  it  could  not  be  re- 
generated from  its  ruins.  It  could  not,  in  my  opinion,  have 
sprung  more  naturally  from  the  principles  of  Christian  so 
ciety.  It  is  to  the  feudal  system  that  we  aie  indebted  for 
its  re-introduction  among  us.  The  glory  of  civilization  is 
to  render  this  principle  for  ever  inactive  and  useless ;  the 
glory  of  the  feudal  system  is  its  having  constantly  professed 
and  defended  it 

Such,  if  I  am  not  widely  mistaken,  is  the  result  of  our  in- 
vestigation of  the  feudal  community,  considered  in  itself,  in 
its  general  principles,  and  independently  of  its  historical  pro- 
gress. If  we  now  turn  to  facts,  to  history,  we  shall  find  it  to 
have  fallen  out,  just  as  might  have  been  expected,  that  the  feu- 
dal system  accomplished  its  task ;  that  its  destiny  has  been 
conformable  to  its  nature.  Events  may  be  adduced  in  proof 
of  all  the  conjectures,  of  all  the  inductions,  which  I  have 
drawn  from  the  nature  and  essential  character  of  this  system. 

Take  a  glance,  for  example,  at  the  general  history  of  feu- 
dalism, from  the  tenth  to  the  thirteenth  centuries,  and  say,  is 
it  not  impossible  to  deny  that  it  exercised  a  vast  and  salutary 
influence  upon  the  progress  of  individual  man — upon  the  de- 
velopment of  his  sentiments,  his  disposition,  and  his  ideas  ? 
Where  can  we  open  the  history  of  this  period,  without  dis- 
covering a  crowd  of  noble  sentiments,  of  splendid  achieve- 
ments, of  beautiful  developments  of  humanity,  evidently  gen- 
erated in  the  bosom  of  feudal  life.  Chivalry,  which  in  reality 
'isars  scarcely  the  least  resemblance  to  feudalism,  was  never- 
iheiess  its  offspring.  It  was  feudalism  which  gave  birth  to 
tikat  romantic  thirst  and  foijdness  for  all  that  is  noble,  gene- 
<ou8,  and  faithful — for  that  sentiment  of  honor,  which  stiU 
•  nisfcs  its  voice  in  favor  of  the  system  by  which  it  was  nursed 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EL  ROPR. 


101 


But  turn  to  another  side.  Here  we  see  that  f.ie  fir^l 
iparks  of  European  imagination,  that  the  first  attempts  of 
poetry,  of  literature,  that  the  first  intellectual  gratificationH 
wliich  Europe  tasted  in  emerging  from  barbarism,  sprung  up 
under  the  protection,  uivder  the  wings,  of  feudalism.  It  was 
in  tlie'l)aronial  hall  that  they  were  born,  and  cherished,  and 
protec'ted.  It  is  to  the  feudal  times  tha*  we  trace  back  the 
earliest  literary  monuments  of  England,  France,  and  Ger 
many,  the  earliest  intellectual  enjoyments  of  modern  Europ*;. 

As  a  set-off  to  tliis,  if  we  question  history  respecting  th<» 
influence  of  feudalism  upon  the  social  system,  its  reply  is, 
though  still  in  accordance  with  our  conjectuie«.  that  the  feu- 
dal system  has  everywhere  opposed  not  only  the  establish- 
ment of  general  order,  but  at  the  same  time  the  extension  of 
peneral  liberty.  Under  whatever  point  of  view  we  consider 
the  progress  of  society,  the  feudal  system  always  appears  as 
an  obstacle  in  its  way.  Hence,  from  the  earliest  existence 
of  feudalism,  the  two  powers  which  have  been  the  prime 
movers  in  the  progress  of  order  and  liberty— monarchical 
power  on  the  one  hand,  and  popular  power  on  the  other— that 
is  to  say,  the  king  and  the  people— have  both  attacked  it,  and 
struggled  against  it  continually.  What  few  attempts  were 
made  at  different  periods  to  regulate  it,  to  impart  to  it  some- 
what of  a  legal,  a  general  character — as  was  done  in  Eng- 
land, by  VViliiam  the  Conqueror  and  his  sons  ;  in  France,  by 
St.  Louis;  and  by  several  of  the  German  Emperors— all 
these  endeavors,  all  these  attempts  failed.  The  very  nature 
itself  of  feudality  is  opposed  to  order  and  legality.  In  the 
last  century,  some  writers  of  talent  attempted  to  dress  out 
feudalism  as  a  social  system  ;  they  endeavored  o  make  it  ap- 
pear a  legitimate,  well-ordered,  progressive  state  of  society, 
and  represented  it  as  a  golden  age.  Ask  them,  however, 
where  it  existed :  summon  them  to  assign  it  a  locality,  and  a 
time,  and  they  will  be  found  wanting.  It  is  a  Utopia  without 
date,  a  drama,  for  which  we  find,  in  the  past,  neither  theatre 
nor  actors.  The  cause  of  *his  error  is  noways  difficult  to 
discover  ;  and  it  accounts  as  well  for  the  error  of  the  opposite 
class,  who  cannot  pronounce  the  name  of  feudalism  withoui 
pnupling  to  it  an  absolute  anathema.  Both  these  parties  have 
looked  at  it,  as  the  two  knights  did  at  the  statue  of  Janus, 
only  on  one  side.  They  have  not  considered  the  two  differ 
ent  poirts  of  view  from  which   feudalism  may  be  surveyed 


102  OK.VERAL    HISTORV     Ot 

They  i(»  not  distinguish,  on  one  hand,  its  influen:e  upon  ihc 
progress  of  the  individual  man,  upon  his  feelings,  his  facullios, 
[lis  disposition  and  passions  ;  nor,  on  tlie  otlier,  its  influence 
upon  the  social  condition.  One  party  coidd  nut  imagine  thai 
a  social  system  in  which  were  to  he  found  so  many  noble 
sentiments,  so  many  virtues,  in  which  wore  seen  sprouting 
forth  the  earliest  buds  of  literature  and  science  ;  in  whicl, 
manners  became  not  only  more  refined,  but  attained  a  certain 
elevation  and  grandeur ;  in  such  a  system  they  could  not 
imagine  that  the  evil  was  so  great  or  so  fatal  as  it  was  made 
lo  appear.  The  other  party,  seeing  but  the  misery  which 
feudalism  inflicted  on  the  great  body  of  the  people — the  ob- 
stacles which  it  opposed  to  the  establishment  of  order  and 
liberty — would  not  believe  that  it  could  produce  noble  charac- 
ters, great  virtues,  or  any  improvement  whatsoever.  Both 
these  parties  have  misunderstood  the  twofold  principle  of  civi- 
lization :  they  have  not  been  aware  that  it  consists  of  two 
movements,  one  of  which  for  a  tiiiie  may  advance  indepen- 
dently of  the  otlier ;  although  after  a  lapse  of  centuries,  and 
perhaps  a  long  series  of  events,  they  must  at  last  reciprocally 
recall  and  bring  forward  each  other. 

To  conclude,  feudalism,  in  its  character  and  influence,  was 
just  what  its  nature  would  lead  us  to  expect.  Individualism, 
the  energy  of  personal  existence,  was  the  prevailing  principle 
among  the  vanquishers  of  the  Roman  world  ;  and  the  develop 
ment  of  the  individual  man,  of  his  mind,  and  faculties,  miglii 
above  all  be  expected  to  result  from  the  social  system,  founded 
by  them  and  for  them.  That  which  man  himself  carries  nito  a 
social  system,  his  intellectual  moral  disposition  at  the  time  he 
enters  it,  has  a  powerful  influence  upon  the  situation  in  which 
he  establishes  himself — upon  all  around  him.  This  situation  iu 
its  turn  reacts  upon  his  dispositions,  strengthens  and  improves 
them.  The  individual  prevailed  in  German  society;  and  the 
influence  of  the  feu<lal  system,  the  oflspring  of  German  socie- 
ty, displayed  itself  in  the  improvement  and  advance  of  the  in- 
dividual. We  shall  find  the  same  fact  to  recur  in  the  other 
elements  of  our  civilization  :  they  all  hold  faithful  to  thoii 
original  principle  ;  they  have  advanced  and  |)ushed  the  world 
in  that  same  road  by  which  they  first  entered.  The  snbject  o( 
the  next  lecture— the  history  of  the  Church,  and  its  influenc# 
upon  Eur<»pean  civilization,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  ceu 


civil, IZATION     IN     MODERN     EUROPE  103 

tiiry--wili  I'urnish  ii?  with  a  new  and  striking  example  of  lliia 
fact.  10 


">  To  appreciate  the  views  taken  in  the  foregoing  lecture,  a  know- 
edge  of  the  peculiar  institutions  and  customs  of  the  Feudal  Sys- 
ieni,  and  of  the  historical  facts  connected  with  its  rise  and  pro- 
pess,  is  requisite.  The  lecture  might,  within  the  same  space,  have 
Seen  more  lull  and  instructive  in  these  respects,  with  advantage  to 
tlie  (lis(|uisiiions  here  presented.  The  needful  information  must  be 
8U|  plied  hy  ilie  lecturer,  or  the  student  must  seek  it  for  himself. 
The  second  chapter  uf  Hallam's  Middle  Ages  will  perhaps  best  fur 
aish  within  a  brief  coin|)ass  all  that  is  necessary. 

The  Feudal  System,  as  a  completely  organized  institution,  can- 
not be  said  to  have  extended  much  beyond  the  limits  of  the  em- 
pire founded  by  Charlemagne,  which  it  will  be  remembered  includ- 
ed France,  Germany,  Italy,  and  part  of  Spain.  In  France  and  Ger- 
many its  working  is  best  displayed. 

The  germs  of  the  system  existed,  without  doubt,  long  before  the 
time  of  Charlemagne;  but  its  full  develepmeut  is  dated  from  the 
tenth  century.  Previous  to  this  time,  an  important  step  in  the  pro- 
gress of  the  system  had  been  taken  by  tlie  conversion  of  benefices 
(or  lands  granted  by  the  kngs  to  their  vassals  upon  condition  of 
military  service)  into  hereditary  fiefs.  But  the  event  which  com- 
pletely established  the  Feudal  System,  subverting  in  the  sequel  the 
royal  authority,  and  destroying  the  Carlovingian  dynasty,  was  the 
act  of  Charles  the  Bold,  who,  m  879,  made  the  governments  of  the 
counties  hereditary.  These  provinces  thus  became  great  fiefs,  the 
dukes  and  counts  rendering  homage  indeed  to  the  crown,  but  as  to 
the  rest  exercising  independent  authority,  and  controlling  all  the 
lesser  feudatories  within  their  former  jurisdiction. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  Feudal  System  was  both  cause 
and  efi'ect  of  the  wretched  state  of  society  during  the  times  when 
it  prevailed ;  whatever  has  been  said  of  its  benefits  must  be  taken 
tr'th  great  (|ualifications,  and  at  all  events  applies  almost  wholly  to 
the  feudal  proprietors;  the  lower  classes,  the  mass  of  the  people, 
were  subject  to  every  species  of  lawless  oppression.  By  the  year 
1300,  the  system  was  substantially  overthrown,  although  a  great 
many  of  the  odious  and  oppressive  exactions  which  it  entailed 
upon  the  peasantry,  the  cultivators  of  the  soil,  were  perpetuated 
lown  to  the  .French  Revolution.  The  causes  of  its  decline  were 
loe  growth  of  the  rojal  power,  the  increase  of  commerce -tlic 
ri.*»  o^  the  free  citiea--and  the  fcvniatioit  of  a  vniddle  class. 


LECTURE  V. 

THE    CHURCH. 

Having  investigated  tlje  nature  and  influence  cf  the  feudal 
system,  I  shall  take  the  Christian  Church,  from  tlie  fifth  to 
the  twelfth  cent\iry,  as  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture.  1 
Bay  the  Christian  Church,  because,  as  I  have  observed  once 
before,  it  is  not  about  Christianity  itself,  Christianity  as  a  re- 
ligious system,  that  I  shall  occupy  your  attention,  but  the 
church  as  an  ecclesiastical  society — the  Christian  hierarchy. 

This  society  was  almost  completely  organized  before  the 
close  of  the  fifth  century.  Not  that  it  has  not  undergone  nmny 
and  important  changes  since  that  period,  but  from  tliis  time 
the  church,  considered  as  a  corporation,  as  the  government 
of  the  Christian  world,  may  be  said  to  have  attained  a  com 
plete  and  independent  existence. 

A  single  glance  will  be  sufficient  to  convince  us,  that  there 
existed,  in  the  fifth  century,  an  immense  difference  between 
the  state  of  the  church  and  that  of  the  other  elements  of  Euro* 
pean  civilization.  You  will  remember  that  I  have  pointed  out, 
as  primary  elements  of  our  civilization,  the  municipal  system, 
the  feudal  system,  monarchy,  and  the  church.  The  munici* 
pal  system,  in  the  fifth  century,  was  no  more  than  a  fragment 
of  the  Roman  empire,  a  shadow  without  life,  or  definite  form. 
The  feudal  system  was  still  a  chaos.  Monarchy  existed  only 
in  name.  All  the  civil  elements  of  modern  society  were 
either  in  their  decline  or  infancy.  The  church  alone  pos- 
sessed youth  and  vigor  ;  she  alone  possessed  at  the  same  time 
K  definite  form,  with  activity  and  strength  ;  she  alone  posse  ts- 
ed  at  once  movement  and  order,  energy  and  system,  that  is  to 
«ay,  the  two  greatest  means  of  influence.  Is  it  not,  let  me  ask 
you,  by  mental  vigor,  by  intellectual  movement  on  one  side, 
luid  by  order  and  discipline  on  the  other,  that  all  institutiona 
acquire  their  power  and  influence  over  society  ?  The  church, 
uioreover   awakened  attention  to,  and  agitated  all  'he  great 


CIVIMZATION     IN     M(JDEKN       RUUOI'K.  105 

.luestions  which  interest  man  ;  slie  busied  herself  with  all  tho 
^reat  problems  of  his  nature,  with  all  he  had  to  hojie  or  feai 
'"or  futurity.  Hence  her  influence  upon  modern  civilization 
nas  been  so  powerful — more  powerful,  perhaps,  than  its  mosi 
violent  adversaries,  or  its  most  zealous  defenders,  have  sup- 
posed. They,  eager  to  advance  or  abuse  her,  have  onl)  Try 
gardsd  the  church  in  a  contentious  point  of  view;  and  viii: 
*hat  contracted  spirit  which  controversy  engenders,  ao» 
'jould  they  do  her  justice,  or  grasp  the  full  sco])e  of  her  swa)  ' 
To  us,  the  clnirch,  in  tho  fifth  century,  appears  as  an  of' 
yanized  and  independent  society,  interposed  between  tlie  mas- 
ters of  the  world,  the  sovereigns,  the  possessors  of  temporal 
power,  and  the  people,  serving  as  a  connecting  link  between 
them,  and  exercising  its  influence  over  all. 

To  know  and  completely  understand  its  agency,  then,  wc 
must  consider  it  from  three  difl^erent  points  of  view  :  we  musi 
consider  it  first  in  itself — we  must  see  what  it  really  wae, 
what  was  its  internal  constitution,  what  the  principles  which 
there  boro  sway,  what  its  nature.  We  must  next  consider  it 
in  its  relations  with  temporal  rulers  —kings,  lords,  and  others; 
and,  finally,  in  its  relations  with  the  people.  And  when  by 
this  threefold  investigation  we  have  formed  a  complete  picture 
of  the  church,  of  its  principles,  its  situation,  and  the  influence 
which  it  exercised,  we  will  verify  this  picture  by  history ;  we 
will  see  whether  facts,  whether  what  we  properly  call  events, 
from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  cen'ury,  agree  with  the  conclu- 
eions  which  our  threefold  examination  of  the  church,  of  ita 
own  nature,  of  its  relations  with  the  masters  of  the  world,  and 
with  the  people,  had  previously  led  us  to  come  to  respecting  it. 


Let  us  first  consider  the  churcti  in  itself,  its  internal  condi- 
tion, its  own  nature. 

The  first,  and  perhaps  the  most  important  fact  that  demands 
n\^r  attention  here,  is  its  existence  ;  the  existence  of  a  gov- 
tnmierit  of  religion,  of  a  priesthood,  of  an  ecclesiastical  cor- 
^ration. 

In  the  opinion  of  many  enlightened  persons,  the  very  notion 
•)f  a  religious  corporation,  of  a  priesthood,  of  a  government  of 
religion,  is  absurd.  They  believe  that  a  religion,  whose  ob- 
ect  is  the  establishment  of  a  clerical  body,  of  a  priesthoof^ 


106  GENERAL    HISTORt^    OF 

legally  constituted  in  short,  of  a  goverrniient  of  religion,  must 
exercise,  upon  the  whole,  an  influence  more  dangerous  than 
useful.  In  their  opinion  religion  is  a  matter  purely  individual 
betwixt  man  and  God  ;  and  that  whenever  religion  loses  thi.i 
charac.er,  whonever  an  exterior  authority  interferes  between 
the  individual  and  the  object  of  his  religious  belief,  that  iy 
between  him  and  God,  religion  is  corrupted,  and  society  in 
danger. 

It  will  not  do  to  pass  by  this  question  without  taking  u 
deeper  view  of  it.  In  order  to  know  what  has  been  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Christian  Church,  we  must  know  what  ought  to 
be,  from  the  nature  of  the  institution  itself,  the  influence  off 
church,  the  influence  of  a  priesthood.  To  judge  of  lliis  influ- 
ence we  must  inquire  more  especially  whether  religion  is,  in 
fact,  purely  individual ;  whether  it  excites  and  gives  birth  to 
nothing  beyond  this  intimate  relation  between  each  individual 
and  God  ;  or  whether  it  does  not,  in  fact,  necessarily  become 
a  source  of  new  relations  between  man  and  man,  and  so  ne- 
cessarily lead  to  the  formation  of  a  religious  society,  and  from 
that  to  a  government  of  this  society. 

If  we  reduce  religion  to  what  is  properly  called  religious 
feeling — to  that  feeling  which,  though  very  real,  is  somowhal 
vague,  somewhat  uncertain  in  its  object,  and  which  we  can 
hcarcely  characterize  but  by  naming  it — to  that  feeling  which 
addresses  itself  at  one  time  to  exterior  nature,  at  another  to 
the  inmost  recesses  of  the  soul ;  to-day  to  the  imagination, 
to-morrow  to  the  mysteries  of  the  future  ;  which  wanders 
everywhere,  and  settles  nowhere  ;  which,  in  a  word,  exhausts 
both  the  world  of  matter  and  of  fancy  in  search  of  a  resting- 
place,  and  yet  finds  none — if  we  reduce  religion  to  this  feel- 
mg  ;  then,  it  would  seem,  it  may  remain  purely  individual 
Such  a  feeling  may  give  rise  to  a  passing  association  ;  it  may 
it  will  indeed,  find  a  pleasure  in  sympathy ;  it  will  feed  upon 
It,  it  will  be  strengthened  by  it  ;  but  its  fluctuating  and  doubt- 
ful character  will  prevent  its  becoming  the  principle  of  per- 
manent and  extensive  association  ;  will  prevent  it  from  ac- 
commodating itself  to  any  system  of  precepts,  of  discipline, 
■)f  forms  ;  will  prevent  it,  in  a  word,  from  giving  birth  to  a 
aocioly,  to  a  religious  government. 

IJut  either  I  have  s.trangely  deceived  myself,  or  this  reli- 
^ous  feeling  does  not  comprthcnd  the  whole  religious  nature 
.f  man.  Religion,  in  my  opin'on,  is  quite  another  thing.  anJ 
mfir.ifely  more  compr"hensivt  than  this. 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN     tlfROPB.  107 

Joined  to  the  destinies  and  nature  of  man,  there  aie  a  num- 
>er  of  problems  whoso  sohition  we  cannot  work  out  in  the 
present  life  ;  these,  though  connected  with  an  order  o(  ihinga 
strange  and  foreign  to  the  world  around  us,  and  apparently  be- 
yond the  reach  of  human  faculties,  do  not  the  less  invincibly 
torment  the  soul  of  man,  part  of  whose  nature  it  seems  to  be 
anxiously  to  desire  and  struggle  for  the  clearing  up  of  the 
mystery  in  which  they  are  involved.  The  solution  of  tluae 
problems, — the  creeds  and  dogmas  which  contain  it,  or  at  leasl 
ire  sujiposed  to  contain  it — such  is  the  first  object,  the  first 
source,  of  religion. 

Another  road  brings  us  to  the  same  point.  To  those  among 
us  who  have  made  some  progress  in  the  study  of  moral  phi- 
losophy, it  is  now,  I  presume,  become  sufRcienlly  evident, 
that  morality  may  exist  independently  of  religions  ideas  ;  that 
tlie  distinction  between  moral  good  and  moral  evil,  the  obliga- 
tion to  avoid  evil  and  to  cleave  to  that  which  is  good,  are  Jaws 
as  much  acknowledged  by  man,  in  his  proper  nature,  as  the 
laws  of  logic  ;  and  which  spring  as  much  from  a  principle 
within  him,  as  in  his  actual  life  they  find  their  application. 
But  granting  these  truths  to  bo  proved,  yielding  up  to  morality 
its  independence,  a  question  naturally  arises  in  the  human 
mind  :  whence  cometh  morality,  whither  doth  it  lead  1  This 
obligation  to  do  good,  which  exists  of  itself,  is  it  a  fact  stand- 
ing by  itself,  without  author,  without  aim  1  Doth  it  not  con- 
ceal, or  rather  doth  it  not  reveal  to  man,  an  origin,  a  destiny, 
reaching  beyond  this  world  ?  By  this  question,  which  rises 
spontaneously  and  inevitably,  morality,  in  its  turn,  leads  man 
to  the  porch  of  religion,  and  opens  to  him  a  sphere  from  which 
he  has  not  borrowed  it 

Thus  on  one  side  the  problems  of  our  nature,  on  the  other 
the  necessity  of  seeking  a  sanction,  an  origin,  an  aim,  for 
morality,  open  to  us  fruitful  and  certain  sources  of  religion 
Thus  it  presents  itself  before  us  under  many  other  aspects 
besides  that  of  a  simple  feeling  such  as  I  havo  described.  It 
presents  itself  as  an  assemblage  : 

First,  of  doctrines  called  into  existence  by  the  problems 
rhich  man  finds  in  himself. 

Secondly,  of  precepts  which  correspond  with  these  doc 
lines,  and  g've  to  natural  morality  a  signification  and  sane '.ion 


108  GENEKAi      HISrORV    OF 

Thirdly,  and  kslly,  of  promises  which  address  tlieinsclif* 
to  the  hopes  of  humanity  respecting  futurity. 

This  is  trul/  what  constitutes  religion.  This  is  really  what 
it  is  at  bottom,  and  not  a  mere  form  of  sensibility,  a  sally  o( 
iho  imagina.ion,  a  species  of  poetry. 

Religion  thus  brought  back  to  its  true  element,  to  us  08- 
tience,  no  longer  appears  as  an  allair  purely  individual,  but  as 
a  powerful  and  fruitful  principle  of  association.  Would  you 
regard  it  as  a  system  of  opinions,  of  dogmas  ?  The  answer 
is,  truth  belongs  to  no  one  ;  it  is  universal,  absolute  ;  all  men 
are  prone  to  seek  it,  to  profess  it  in  common.  Would  you 
rest  upon  the  precepts  which  are  associated  with  the  doc- 
trines ?  The  reply  is,  law  obligatory  upon  one  is  obligatory 
upon  all — man  is  bound  to  promulgate  it,  to  bring  all  under  its 
authority.  It  is  the  same  with  respect  to  the  promises  which 
religion  makes  as  the  rewards  of  obedience  to  its  faith  and  its 
precepts  ;  it  is  necessary  they  should  be  spread,  and  that 
these  fruits  of  religion  should  be  ollered  to  all.  From  the 
essential  elements  of  religion  then  is  seen  to  .spring  up  a  re- 
ligious society  ;  and  it  springs  from  them  so  infallibly,  that  the 
word  which  expresses  the  social  feeling  with  the  greatest 
energy,  which  expresses  our  invincible  desire  to  propagate 
ideas,  to  extend  society,  is  proselytism — a  term  particularly 
applied  to  religious  creeds,  to  which  it  seems  almost  exclu- 
sively consecrated. 

A  religious  society  once  formed, — when  a  certain  numbei 
of  men  are  joined  together  by  the  same  religious  opinions  and 
belief,  yield  obedience  to  the  same  law  of  religious  precepts, 
and  are  inspired  with  the  same  religious  hopes,  they  need  a 
government.  No  society  can  exist  a  week,  no,  not  even  an 
hour,  without  a  government.  At  the  very  instant  in  which  a 
society  is  formed,  by  the  very  act  of  its  formation  it  calls  .^^ 
forth  a  government,  which  proclaims  the  conmion  truth  that 
holds  them  together,  which  promulgates  and  maintains  the 
precepts  that  this  truth  may  be  expected  to  bring  forth.  That 
U  religious  society,  like  all  others  requires  a  controlling  pow- 
er, a  government,  is  implied  in  the  very  fact  that  a  society 

(I'dBtU. 

And  not  only  is  a  government  necessary,  but  it  naturally 
%rises  of  uself.  I  cannot  spare  much  time  to  show  how 
governments  rise  and  become  established  in  society  in  gene 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN     KUROI'E.  )  09 

,al.  I  3\.all  only  remark,  that  when  matters  are  left  to  take 
their  natural  course,  when  no  exterior  force  is  applied  to  drivv 
iliem  from  their  usual  route,  power  will  fall  into  the  hands  oi 
the  most  capahle,  of  the  most  worthy,  into  the  hands  of  those 
who  will  lead  society  on  its  way.  Are  there  thoughts  of  « 
military  expedition  ?  the  bravest  will  have  the  command,  h 
s.vciety  anxious  about  some  discovery,  some  learned  enter- 
prise ?  the  most  skilful  will  bo  sought  for.  The  same  will 
tftke  place  in  all  other  matters.  I  "t  but  the  common  order  of 
things  be  observed,  let  the  natural  ii  etiuality  of  mer.  freely 
ilisplay  itself,  and  each  will  find  the  station  that  he  is  best  fit- 
ted to  fill.  So  as  regards  religion,  men  will  be  found  no  more 
equal  in  talents,  in  abilities,  and  in  power,  than  they  are  in 
other  matters  :  this  man  has  a  more  striking  a.ethod  than 
others  in  proclaiming  the  doctrines  of  religion  and  making 
converts  ;  another  has  more  power  in  enforcing  religious  pre- 
cepts ;  a  third  may  excel  in  exciting  reliJBfc  hopes  and  emo- 
tions, and  keeping  the  soul  in  a  devout  ij^^oly  frame.  The 
same  ineiiuality  of  faculties  and  of  influenclf  which  gives  rise 
to  power  in  civil  society,  will  be  found  to  exist  in  religious 
society.  Missionaries,  like  generals,  go  forth  to  conrjuer.  So 
that  while,  on  the  one  hand,  religious  government  naturally 
flows  from  the  nature  of  religious  society,  it  as  naturally  de 
velops  itself,  on  the  other,  by  the  simple  effect  of  human 
faculties,  and  their  unequal  distribution. 

Thus  the  moment  that  religion  takes  possession  of  a  man 
n  religious  society  begins  to  be  formed  ;  and  the  moment  this 
religious  society  appears  it  gives  birth  to  a  government. 

A  grave  objection,  however,  here  presents  itself:  in  thie 
^ase  there  is  nothing  to  command,  nothing  to  impose  ;  m 
Kind  of  fori  e  can  here  be  legitimate.  'I'here  is  no  place  foi 
government,  because  here  the  most  perfect  liberty  ought  to 
prevail. 

Be  it  so.  But  is  it  not  forming  a  gross  and  degrading  idea 
of  government  to  suppose  that  it  resides  07ihj,  to  suppose  that 
it  resides  chiefly,  in  the  force  which  it  exercises  to  make 
\izel'  obeyed,  in  its  coercive  element  ? 

Let  us  quit  religion  for  a  moment,  and  turn  to  civil  govern- 
ments. '1  race  with  me,  1  beseech  you,  the  simple  march  of 
circumstances.  Society  exists.  Something  is  to  be  done,  no 
matter  what,  in  its  name  and  for  its  interest;  a  /aw  has  to  bt 


llO  GENERAL    HiaTORY    OF 

executed  some  measure  to  be  adopted,  a  judgment  tc  be  pr« 
aounced.  Now,  certainly,  there  is  a  proper  method  of  sup 
plying  these  social  wants  ,  there  is  a  proper  law  to  make^  a 
proper  measure  to  aaopt,  a  proper  judgment  to  prouounctt 
Whatever  may  be  the  matter  in  hand,  whatever  may  be  the 
interest  in  question,  there  is,  upon  every  occasion,  a  truth 
which  must  be  discovered,  and  which  ought  to  decide  tha 
matter,  and  govern  the  conduct  to  be  adopted. 

The  first  business  of  government  is  to  seek  this  trutli,  is  to 
discover  what  is  just,  reasonable,  and  suitable  to  society. 
When  this  is  found,  it  is  proclaimed  :  the  next  business  is  to 
introduce  it  to  the  public  mind  ;  to  get  it  approved  by  the  men 
upon  whom  it  is  to  act ;  to  persuade  them  tlit  it  is  reasui  able. 
In  all  this  is  there  anything  coercive  1  Not  at  all.  Suppose  now 
that  the  truth  which  ought  to  decide  upon  the  affair,  no  matter 
what ;  suppose,  I  say,  that  the  truth  being  found  and  proclaim- 
ed, all  understandings  shoidd  be  at  once  convinced  ;  all  wills 
at  once  determined  ;  that  all  should  acknowledge  that  the 
government  was  right,  and  obey  it  spontaneously.  There  is 
nothing  yet  of  compulsion,  no  occasion  for  the  employment 
of  force.  Does  it  follow  then  that  a  government  does  not  ex- 
ist ?  Is  there  nothing  of  government  in  all  this?  To  be 
sure  there  is,  and  it  has  accomplished  its  task.  Compulsion 
appears  not  till  the  resistance  of  individuals  calls  for  it — till 
the  idea,  the  decision  which  authority  has  adopted,  fails  to 
obtain  the  approbation  or  the  voluntary  submission  of  all. 
Then  government  employs  force  to  make  itself  obeyed.  This 
is  a  necessary  consequence  of  human  imperfection ;  an  imper- 
fection which  resides  as  well  in  power  as  in  society.  There 
is  no  way  of  entirely  avoiding  this  ;  civil  governments  will 
always  be  obliged  to  have  recourse,  to  a  certain  degree,  to 
compulsion.  Still  it  is  evident  they  are  not  made  up  of  com- 
pulsion, because,  whenever  they  can,  they  are  glad  to  do 
without  it,  lO  the  great  blessing  of  all ;  and  their  highest  point 
of  perfection  is  to  be  able  to  discard  it,  and  to  trust  to  meana 
purely  moral,  to  their  influence  upon  the  understanding :  so 
ihat,  in  proportion  as  government  can  dispense  with  compul- 
sion and  force,  tne  more  faithful  it  is  to  its  true  natui'e,  and 
the  betier  it  fulfils  the  purpose  for  whicli  it  is  sent.  This  ia 
lo^  to  slirink,  'his  is  not  to  give  way,  as  people  commonly  cry 
i>ut ;  it  is  merely  acting  in  a  diflerent  manner,  in  a  manner 
Tiuoh  more  general  and  powerful.  Those  governiiuuita  which 
wiploy  tlie  most  coimulsion  perform  nmch  less  dan  tho8»'. 


CIVIKZATION    IN    MODERN      EUROPE.  HI 

r'  I'ch  scarcely  ever  have  recourse  to  it.  Governnient,  l)j  ad 
dressing  itself  to  the  understanding,  by  engaging  the  free-wil 
of  its  sul)jccts,  by  acting  by  means  purely  intellectual,  in 
Btead  of  contracting,  expaiuls  and  elevates  itself;  it  is  thee 
Ihrit  it  accomplishes  most,  and  attains  to  the  grandest  objects 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  when  government  is  obliged  to  be  con- 
ftanlly  employing  its  physical  arm  that  it  becomes  weak  and 
rojliained — thtt  it  does  little,  and  does  that  little  badly. 

The  essence  of  government  then  by  no  means  resides  ir 
c  )mj)ulsion,  in  the  exercise  of  brute  force  ;  it  consists  more 
especially  of  a  system  of  means  and  powers,  conceived  fol 
the  purpose  of  discovering  upon  all  occasions  what  is  best  to 
be  dot\e  ;  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  the  truth  which  by 
right  ought  to  govern  society,  for  the  purpose  of  persuadnig 
all  men  to  acknowledge  this  truth,  to  adopt  and  respect  it 
willingly  and  freely.  Thus  1  think  I  have  shown  that  tho 
necessity  for,  and  the  existence  of  a  goveriunent,  are  very  con 
oeivable,  even  though  there  should  be  no  room  for  compul- 
sion, even  though  it  should  be  absolutely  forbidden. 

This  is  exactly  the  case  in  the  government  of  religious  so- 
ciety. There  is  no  doubt  but  compulsion  is  here  strictly  for- 
bidden ;  there  can  be  no  doubt,  as  its  only  territory  is  the  con- 
science of  man,  but  that  every  species  of  force  must  be  ille- 
gal, whatever  may  be  the  end  designed.  Ihil  governnien 
does  not  exist  the  less  on  this  account.  It  still  has  to  perform 
all  the  duties  which  we  have  just  now  enumerated.  It  is  in- 
cumbent upon  it  to  seek  out  tiie  religious  doctrines  which  re- 
solve t]  e  problems  of  human  destiny;  or,  if  a  general  system 
of  faith  beforehand  exists,  in  which  these  problems  are  al- 
ready resolved,  it  will  be  its  duty  to  discover  and  set  forth  its 
consequences  in  each  particular  case.  It  will  be  its  duty  to 
pronmlgate  and  maintain  the  precepts  which  correspond  to  its 
doctrines.  It  will  be  its  duly  to  preach  them,  to  teach  them, 
and,  if  society  wanders  from  them,  to  bring  it  back  again  to 
ho  right  path.  No  compulsion  ;  but  the  ii  vcstigation,  the 
pn^achiiig,  the  teaching  of  religious  truths;  t/ie  administering 
*o  religious  wants;  admonishing;  censuring;  this  is  tlie  task 
tthich  religious  government  has  to  perform.  Suppress  all 
force  and  coercion  as  much  as  you  desire,  still  you  will  see 
til  the  essential  questions  connected  with  the  organization  ol 
I  government  present  themselves  before  you,  and  d^mand  » 


112  GENERAL    HISTORV    OF 

solution  7  he  quosiion  for  example,  whetlier  a  Lody  jf  le- 
ligious  magistrates  is  necessary,  or  whether  it  is  poseiblj  lo 
trust  to  the  religious  nspiration  of  indiviiluals  ?  'Phis  ques- 
tion, which  is  a  subject  of  debate  between  most  religious  tc- 
cieties  and  that  of  the  Quakers,  will  always  exist,  it  must  al- 
ways remain  a  matter  of  discussion.  Again,  granting  a  bcdy 
of  religious  magistrates  to  be  necessary,  the  question  arisrs 
Frhether  a  system  of  equality  is  to  be  preferred,  or  an  hierarch- 
al  constitution — a  graduated  series  of  powers  1  This  q\ies- 
iion  will  not  cease  because  you  take  from  the  ecclesiastical 
magistrates,  whatever  they  may  be,  all  means  of  compulsion 
Instead  then  of  dissolving  religious  society  in  order  to  have 
the  right  to  destroy  religious  government,  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged that  religious  society  forms  itself  naturally,  that  re- 
ligious government  flows  no  less  naturally  from  religious  so- 
ciety, and  that  the  problem  to  be  solved  is  on  what  condition? 
this  government  ought  to  exist,  on  what  it  is  based,  what  are 
its  principles,  what  the  conditions  of  its  legitimacy  ?  This  is 
the  investigation  which  the  existence  of  religious  government 
as  of  all  others,  compels  us  to  undertake. 

The  conditions  of  legitimacy  are  the  same  in  the  govern- 
ment of  a  religious  society  as  in  all  others.  Thev  may  be 
reduced  to  two  :  the  first  is,  that  authority  should  be  placed 
and  constantly  remain,  as  eflTectually  at  least  as  the  iiiiperfec 
tion  of  all  human  affairs  will  permit,  in  the  hands  of  the  best 
the  most  capable  ;  so  that  the  legitimate  superiority,  v/hich 
lies  scattered  in  various  parts  of  society,  may  bo  thereby 
drawn  out,  collected,  and  delegated  to  discover  the  social  law 
— to  exercise  its  authority.  The  second  is,  that  the  authority 
thus  legitimately  constituted  should  respect  the  legitimate 
liberties  of  those  over  whom  it  is  called  to  govern.  A  good 
system  for  the  formation  and  organization  of  authority,  a  good 
eystem  of  securities  for  liberty,  are  the  two  conditions  in  which 
the  goodness  of  government  in  general  resides,  whether  civil 
or  religious.  And  it  is  by  this  standard  that  all  govermnenlu 
eho'ild  be  judged. 

Instead,  then,  of  reproaching  the  Church,  the  governmont 
of  the  Clirisi\an  world,  with  its  existence,  let  us  exainiue  how 
t  was  constituted,  arid  see  wheth(,r  its  principles  correspor.i^ 
with  the  two  ess'^Qtia'.  conditions  of  all  good  go  'ernment. 


CHrlLIZATION     IN    MODERN     EUROPE  113 

liCt  U8  examine  the  Church  in  tliis  twofold  jyOi^nt  of  view. 

In  the  first  place,  with  regard  to  the  formation  and  trans- 
"nissinn  of  authority  in  the  Cliurch,  tliere  is  a  word,  which  hae 
jften  beon  made  use  of,  which  I  wish  to  get  rid  of  altogether 
I  mean  the  word  caste.  This  word  has  been  too  frequently  ap 
plied  to  tlie  Cliristian  clergy,  but  its  application  to  that  body 
Is  both  improper  and  unjust.  The  idea  of  hereditary  right  j» 
inhereiti  to  the  idea  of  caste.  In  every  part  of  the  world,  in 
every  country  in  which  the  system  of  caste  has  prevailed — iii 
Egypt,  in  India — from  the  earliest  time  to  the  present  day — 
you  will  find  that  castes  have  been  everywhere  essentially 
hereditary :  they  are,  in  fact,  the  transmission  of  the  same 
rank  and  condition,  of  the  same  power,  from  father  to  son 
Now  where  there  is  no  inheritance  there  is  no  caste,  but  a 
corporation.  The  esprit  de  corps,  or  that  certain  degree  of 
love  and  interest  which  every  individual  of  an  order  feels  to 
wards  it  as  a  whole,  as  well  as  towards  all  its  members,  has 
its  inconveniences,  but  differs  very  essentially  from  the  spirit 
of  caste.  The  celibacy  of  the  clergy  of  itself  renders  the  ap- 
plication of  this  term  to  the  Christian  Church  altogether  im- 
proper. 

The  important  consequences  of  this  distinction  cannot  have 
escaped  you.  To  the  system  of  castes,  to  the  circumstance 
of  inheritance,  certain  peculiar  privileges  are  necessarily  at- 
tached ;  the  very  definition  of  caste  implies  this.  Where  the 
same  functions,  the  same  powers  become  hereditary  in  th( 
same  families,  it  is  evident  that  they  possess  peculiar  privi 
leges,  which  none  can  acquire  independently  of  birth.  This 
is  indeed  exactly  what  has  taken  place  wherever  the  religious 
government  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  caste  ;  it  has  be- 
come a  matter  of  privilege  ;  all  were  shut  out  from  it  but  those 
who  belonged  to  the  families  of  the  caste.  Now  nothing  like 
this  is  to  be  found  in  the  Christian  Church.  Not  only  is  the 
Church  entirely  free  from  this  fault,  but  she  has  constantly 
maintained  the  principle,  that  all  men,  whatever  their  origin 
\CQ  equally  privileged  to  enter  her  ranks,  to  fill  her  highest 
offices,  to  enjoy  her  proudest  digt\ities.  The  ecclesiastical 
car«or,  particularly  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  was 
open  to  all.  The  church  was  recruited  from  all  ranks  of  so- 
ci'J.y,  from  the  lower  as  well  as  the  higher,  indeed,  most  fre- 
quently from  the  lower.  When  all  around  her  fell  under  the 
ryranny  of  privilege,  she  alone  maintained  the  principle  of 
''quality,  of  competition  ?nd  emulation  ;  she  alone  called  the 


114  GENERAL    Hit.  »"ORY    OK 

superior  of  all  classes  to  ihe  possession  of  power.  This  i« 
the  first  great  corisccjuence  whicli  naturally  llowed  from  ihi 
fact  that  the  Church  was  a  corporation  and  not  a  caste. 

I  will  show  you  a  second.  It  is  the  inherent  nature  of  ;xV 
castes  to  posiess  a  degree  of  immobility.  This  assertion  re- 
qmr  3S  no  proof.  Turn  over  the  pages  of  history,  and  you  wil 
find  that  wherever  the  tyranny  of  castes  has  predommatel 
society,  whethei  religious  or  political,  has  universally  become 
sluggish  and  torpid.  A  dread  of  improvement  was  certaiidy 
introduced  at  a  certain  epoch,  and  up  to  a  certain  point,  into 
(he  Christian  Church.  But  whatever  regret  this  may  cost  us 
It  cannot  be  said  that  this  feeling  ever  generally  prevailed 
It  cannot  be  said  that  the  Christian  Church  ever  remained  in<- 
active  and  stationary.  For  along  course  of  centuries  she  was 
always  in  motion  ;  at  one  time  pushed  forward  by  her  oppo- 
nents without,  at  others  driven  on  by  an  inward  impulse — bj 
the  want  of  reform,  or  of  interior  development.  The  church, 
indeed,  taken  as  a  whole,  has  been  constantly  changing — 
constantly  advancing — her  history  is  diversified  and  progres- 
sive. Can  it  be  doubted  that  she  was  indebted  for  this  to  the 
admission  of  all  classes  to  the  priestly  offices,  to  the  continual 
filling  up  of  her  ranks,  upon  a  principle  of  equality,  by  which 
a  stream  of  young  and  vigorous  l)lood  was  ever  (lowing  into 
her  veins,  keeping  her  unceasingly  active  and  stirring,  and 
defending  her  from  the  reproach  of  apathy  and  inunobility 
which  might  otherwise  have  triumphed  over  her  ' 

Hut  how  did  the  Church,  in  admitting  all  classes  to  power 
satisfy  herself  that  they  had  the  right  to  be  so  admitted  ?  How 
did  she  discover  and  proceed  in  taking  from  the  bosom  of  so- 
ciety, the  legitimate  superiorities  who  should  have  a  share  in 
her  government  1  In  the  church  two  principles  were  in  full 
vigor  :  fust,  the  election  of  the  inferior  by  the  superior,  which 
>n  fact,  was  nothing  more  thai  choice  or  nomination  ;  secondly, 
the  election  of  the  superior  by  the  subordinates,  or  election 
properly  so  called,  and  such  as  we  conceive  to  be  election  in 
file  present  day. 

The  ordination  of  priests,  for  example,  the  power  of  raising 
a  man  to  the  priestly  oflice,  rested  solely  with  the  superior 
He  alone  made  choice  of  the  candidate  for  holy  orders.  Tho 
case  was  the  sarr.o  in  the  collation  to  cerlaiu  ecclesiastical 
benefices,  such  as  those  attached  to  feudal  grants,  and  some 
(ihers  ;  it  was  the  superior  whether  king,  pope,  or  lord,  whc 


=  triM7,ATT0N     IN    MODERN     EUROPE  lit 

nominated  to  the  benefice.  In  otlier  cases  the  'lue  principle 
jf  election  prevailed.  The  hishops  had  been,  for  a  h>ng  time, 
>nd  were  still,  often,  in  the  period  under  consideration,  elect- 
p(l  bv  the  inferior  clergy  ;  even  the  people  sometimes  took 
part  in  them.  In  monasteries  the  abbot  was  elected  by  the 
monks  At  Rome,  the  pope  was  elected  by  the  college  of 
cardinals  ;  and,  at  an  earlier  date,  even  all  the  Roman  clerg) 
had  a  voice  in  his  election.  You  may  here  clearly  observe, 
then,  the  two  princij)les,  the  choice  of  the  inferior  by  the  su- 
perior, and  the  election  of  the  superior  by  the  subordinates  ; 
which  were  admitted  and  acted  upon  in  the  Church,  particu- 
larly at  the  period  which  now  engages  our  attention.  It  was 
by  one  of  these  two  means  that  men  were  appointed  to  the 
various  offices  in  the  Church,  or  obtained  any  portion  of  ec- 
clesiastical authority. 

These  two  principles  were  not  only  in  operation  at  the 
same  time,  but  being  altogether  opposite  in  their  nature,  a 
constant  struggle  prevailed  between  them.  After  a  strife  foi 
centuries,  after  many  vicissitudes,  the  nomination  of  the  infe- 
rior by  the  superior  gained  the  day  in  the  Christian  Church. 
Yet,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  the  opposite  prin- 
ciple, the  election  of  the  superior  by  the  subordinates,  con- 
tinued generally  to  prevail 

We  must  not  be  astonished  at  the  co-existence  of  these  two 
opposite  principles.  If  we  look  at  society  in  general,  at  the 
common  course  of  affairs,  at  the  manner  in  which  authority  ie 
there  transmitted,  we  shall  find  that  this  transmission  is  some- 
times effected  by  one  of  these  modes,  and  sometimes  the 
other.  The  Church  did  not  invent  them,  she  found  them  in 
the  providential  government  of  human  things,  and  borrowed 
hem  from  it.  There  is  somewhat  of  truth,  of  utility,  in  both. 
Their  combination  would  often  prove  the  best  mode  of  dis- 
covering legitimate  power.  It  is  a  great  misfortune,  in  nfiy 
opinion,  that  only  one  of  them,  the  choice  of  the  inferior  by 
the  superior,  should  have  been  victorious  in  the  Church.  The 
second,  however,  was  never  entirely  banished,  but  under  va- 
rious nannes,  with  more  or  less  success,  has  re-appeared  in 
everj  epoch,  with  at  least  sufficient  force  to  protest  against, 
ind  interrupt,  prescription." 


•«  The  disliiiction  between  the  power  of  conferring  ihe  authority 
to  exercise  the  spiritua.  functions  of  an  ecclesiastical  office,  ana 
the  rio;ht  of  d»*8ignating  the  person  upon  whom  the  authority  «hall 


116 


GENERAL    HISTORV     Of 


The  Chrisiian  Church,  at  the  period  of  which  wo  an 
speaking,  ilerivod  nn  iniinense  force  from  its  respect  foi 
aquality  aiul  tlie  various  kinds  of  legitimate  superiority.  It 
•vas  the  most  popular  society  of  ihe  time — the  most  accessible  { 
it  alone  opened  its  arms  to  ail  the  talents,  to  all  the  ambitious- 
ly noble  of  our  race.  To  this,  above  all,  it  owed  its  grciil 
ness,  ui  least  certainly  much  more  than  to  its  riches,  and  tl.t 
illegiamate  means  which  it  but  too  often  employed. 

With  regard  to  the  second  condition  of  a  good  government, 
namely,  a  respect  for  liberty,  that  of  the  Church  leaves  much 
to  bo  desired. 

Two  bad  principles  here  met  together.  One  avowed, 
forming  part  and  parcel,  as  it  were,  of  the  doctrines  of  the 
Church  ;  the  other,  in  no  w-ay  a  legitimate  consequence  of  hei 
doctrines,  was  introduced  into  her  bosom  by  human  weakness. 

The  first  was  a  denial  of  the  rights  of  individual  reason — 
the  claim  of  transmitting  points  of  faith  from  the  highest  au- 
thority, downwards,  throughout  the  whole  religious  body 
without  allowing  to  any  one  the  right  of  examining  tliem  for 
hin^self  But  it  was  more  easy  to  lay  this  down  as  a  principle 
ihan  to  carry  it  out  in  practice  ;  and  the  reason  is  obvious,  for 
a  conviction  cannot  enter  into  the  human  mind  unless  the  hu 
man  mind  first  opens  the  door  to  it ;  it  cannot  enter  by  force 
In  whatever  way  it  may  present  itself,  whatever  name  it  may 
invoke,  reason  looks  to  it,  and  if  it  forces  an  entrance,  it  is 
because  reason  is  satisfied.  Thus  individual  reason  has  al 
ways  continued  to  exist,  and  under  whalevei   name  it  may 

be  conferred  for  any  particular  place,  should  be  borne  in  mind. 
The  former,  by  the  established  constitution  of  the  Church  and  by 
universal  practice,  always  belonged  exclusively  to  the  bishops: 
they  alone  ordained  the  inferior  clergy;  they  alone  consecrated  ilie 
bishops.  In  regard  to  the  latter  the  practice  varied :  sometimes, 
he  person  designated  was  elected  by  the  clergy  and  peojile, 
which  was  the  primitive  mode,  sometimes  by  the  clergy;  some- 
times by  the  temporal  sovereign.  But  in  no  case  did  tiie  peo|)le  oi 
the  prince  imagine  tl»emselves  competent  to  consecrate,  to  confe] 
upon  the  person  they  had  selected  for  bishop,  the  spiritual  powert 
liertaining  to  tlie  functions  of  the  see  or  benefice.  Tliis  was  always 
referred  to  the  bishops,  witn  whom  it  rested  to  confer  or  withhold 
those  powers,  witlicut  which  the  designation  by  people  or  nrince 
veas  of  no  effect.  This  remark,  of  course,  applies  only  to  the  sa- 
sred  or  spiritual  orders;  the  authority  of  priors,  abbots,  etc  wa« 
lerived  from  their  election. 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN     EUROPR  117 

)iav9  been  disguised,  has  always  considered  and  reflected 
upon  the  ideas  which  have  been  attempted  to  be  forced  upor. 
It.  Still,  however,  it  must  be  admitted  but  as  too  true,  that 
reason  often  becomes  impaired  ;  that  she  loses  her  power,  be 
comes  mutilated  and  contracted — that  she  may  be  brouglit  no* 
only  to  make  a  sorry  use  of  her  faculties,  but  to  make  a  more 
Ijnii'od  use  of  them  than  she  ought  to  do.  So  far  indeed  the 
b:td  principle  wliich  crept  into  the  Church  took  effect,  but 
vith  regard  to  the  praclical  and  complete  operation  of  this 
principle,  it  nover  took  place — it  was  impossible  it  ever  should. 

The  second  vicious  principle  was  the  right  of  compulsion 
assumed  by  the  Romish  church ;  a  right,  however,  contrary 
to  the  very  nature  and  spirit  of  religious  society,  to  the  origin 
of  the  Cliurch  itself,  and  to  its  primitive  maxims.  A  right, 
too,  disputed  by  some  of  the  most  illustrious  fathers  of  the 
Church — by  St.  Ambrose,  St.  Hilary,  St.  Martin — but  which, 
nevertheless,  prevailed  and  became  an  important  feature  in  its 
history.  The  right  it  assumed  of  forcing  belief,  if  these  two 
wo'ds  can  stand  togetlier,  or  of  punishing  faith  physically,  of 
persecuting  heresy,  that  is  to  say,  a  contempt  for  the  legiti- 
mate liberty  of  human  thought,  was  an  error  which  found  its 
way  into  the  Romish  church  before  the  beginning  of  the  fifth 
century,  and  has  in  the  end  cost  her  very  dear. 

If  then  we  consider  the  state  of  the  Church  with  regard  to 
the  liberty  of  its  members,  we  must  confess  that  its  principles 
in  this  respect  were  less  legitimate,  less  salutary,  than  those 
which  presided  at  the  rise  and  formation  of  ecclesiastical 
power.  It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed,  that  a  bad  prin- 
ciple radically  vitiates  an  institution  ;  nor  even  tha.  it  does  it 
all  the  mischief  of  which  it  is  pregnant.  Nothing  tortures 
history  more  than  logic.  No  sooner  does  the  human  mind 
seize  upon  an  idea,  than  it  draws  from  it  all  its  possible  con- 
sequences ;  makes  it  produce,  in  imagination,  all  that  it  would 
in  reality  be  capable  of  producing,  and  then  figures  it  down  in 
history  with  all  the  extravagant  additions  which  itself  has  con- 
juTod  up.  This,  however,  is  n  ;thing  like  the  truth.  Events 
are  not  so  prompt  in  their  consequences,  as  the  human  mind 
hi  its  deductions.  There  is  in  all  things  a  mixture  of  good 
aiid  evil,  so  profound,  so  inseparable,  that,  in  whatever  pari 
yov  penetrate,  if  even  you  descend  to  the  lowest  elements  of 
ftociety,  or  into  the  soul  .tself,  you  will  there  find  these  twc 
wnciples  dwelUng  together,  developing  themselves  side  by 
pide    perpetually  struggling  a  id  juarrelling  with  each  otbei 


118 


GENERAL    HtSTORY    n» 


but  neither  of  il.em  ever  obtaining  a  complete  victory,  oi  abso 
lutely  dcfetroying  its  fellow.  Human  nature  never  readies  tc 
Uie  extreme  eitlier  of  good  or  evil.  It  passes,  without  ceasing 
from  one  to  the  oilier  ;  it  recovers  itself  at  the  moment  whe.i  il 
teems  lost  for  ever.  It  slips  and  loses  ground  at  the  monuMii 
«*hcn  it  seems  to  ha'e  assumed  the  firmest  position. 

We  again  discover  here  that  character  of  discordance,  ol 
tForsity,  of  .strife,  to  which  I  formerly  called  your  attention, 
ifa  the  fundamental  character  of  European  civilization.  Be- 
ajdes  this,  there  is  another  general  fact  which  characterizes 
the  government  of  the  Church,  which  we  n  ust  not  pass  over 
without  notice.  In  the  present  day,  when  the  idea  of  govern- 
ment presents  itself  to  our  mind,  we  know,  of  whatever  kind 
it  may  be,  that  it  will  scarcely  pretend  to  any  authority  be- 
yond the  outward  actions  of  men,  beyond  the  civil  relations 
between  man  and  man.  Governments  do  not  profess  to  carry 
their  rule  further  than  this.  With  regard  to  human  thought, 
to  the  human  conscience,  to  the  intellectual  powers  of  man  • 
with  regard  to  individual  opinions,  to  private  morals, — with 
1  these  they  do  not  interfere  ;  this  would  be  to  invade  the  do 
\',    main  of  liberty. 

The  Christian  Church  did,  and  was  bent  upon  doing,  exact- 
/  ly  the  contrary.      What  she  undertook  to  govern  was  the  hu- 
/  /  man  thought,  human  liberty,  private  morals,  individual  opi- 
;  '  lions      She  did  not  draw  up  a  code  like  ours,  which  took  ac- 
i  /  count  only  of  those  crimes  that  are  at  the  same  time  ofTensivo 
I  ;    to   morals  and  dangerous   to   society,  punishing    them    only 
I  ,     when,  and  because,  they  bore  tins  twofold  character  ;  but  pro 
I  ;     pared  a  catalogue  of  all  those  actions,  criminal  more  particu- 
■     iarly  in  a  moral  poin   of  view,  and  punished  them  all  under 
the  name  of  sins.     Her  aim  was  their  entire  suppression.     In 
a  word,   (he  government  of  the    Church  did  not,   like    our 
modern  governments,  direct  her  attention  to  the  outward  man, 
or  to  the  purely  civil  relations  of  men  among  themselves  ;  she 
addressed  herself  to  the  inward  man,  to  the  thought,  to  the 
conscience  ;  in  fact,  to  that  which  of  all  things  is  most  hid- 
den and  secure,  most  free,  and   which   spurns  the  least  re- 
straint.    The  Church,  then,  by  the  very  i  ature  of  its  under- 
taking, combined  with  the  nature  of  some  of  the  pri:  cipica 
ujjon  which  its  government  was  founded,  stood  in  great  peril 
of  falling  into  tyranny  ;  of  an  illegitimate  employment  of  forco 
\r\  the  mean  time,  this  force  was  encountered  by  a  resistancr 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  119 

Rlllun  the   Church  itself,    which   it  could  never   overcome 
Human  thought  and  liberty,  however  fettered,  however  con 
fined  for  room  and  space  in  which  to  exercise  their  faculties 
.oppose  with  so  much  energy  every  attempt  to  enslave  them, 
ihat  their  reaction  makes  even  despotism  itself  to  yield,  and 
aivc  up  something  every  moment.     This  took  place  in   the 
^«Ty  bosom  of  the  Christian  Church.     We  have  seen  heresj 
proscribed— the  right  of  free  inquiry  condemned  ;  a  conteni|>t 
ihown  for  individual  reason,  the  principle  of  the  nnperativc 
transmission  of  doctrines  by  human  authority  eVablished.   And 
yet  where  can  we  find  a  society  in   which  individual  reason     , 
more  boldly  developed  itself  than  in  the  Church  \     What  are    ', 
sects  and  heresies,  if  not  the   fruit  of  individual  opinions  <     \ 
These  sects,  these  heresies,  all  these  oppositions  which  arose 
in  the  Christian  Church,  are  the  most  decisive  proof  of  the 
life  and  moral  activity  which  reigned  within  her  :  a  life  stormy,     i 
painful,  sown  with  perils,  with  errors  and  crimes— yet  splen- 
did and  mighty,  and  which  has  given  place  to  the  noblest  de- 
'  vclopments  of  intelligence  and  mind.      But  leaving  t'le  oppo- 
sition, and  looking  to  the  ecclesiastical  governmcm   itself-- 
how  does  the  case  stand  here  ?     You  will  find  it  constituted, 
you  will  find  it  acting,  in  a  manner  quite  opposite  to  what  you 
would  expect  from  some  of  its  principles.     It  denies  the  right 
of  inquiry,  it  wishes  to  deprive  individual  reason  of  its  liber- 
ty ;  yet  it  appeals  to  reason  incessantly  ;  practical  liberty  ac- 
tually predominates  in  its  affairs.     What  are  its  institutions, 
its  means  of  action  1     Provincial  councils,  national  councils, 
general  councils;    a  perpetual    correspondence,  a  perpetual 
publicatijn  of  letters,  of  admonitions,  of  writings.   No  govern- 
ment ever  went  so  far  in  discussions  and  open  deliberations. 
«)ne  might  fancy  one's  self  in  the  midst  of  the  philosophical 
schools'of  Greece.     But  it  was  not  here  a  mere  discussion, 
it  was  not  a  simple  search  after  truth  that  here  occupied  the 
attention  ;  it  was  questions  of  authority,  of  measures  to   be 
taken,  of  decrees  to  be  d.xwn  up,  in  short,  the  business  of  a 
government.     Such  indeed  was  the  energy  of  intellectual  life 
in  the  bosom  of  this  government,  that  it  became  its  predomi- 
nant, universal  character;  to  this  all  others  gave  way;   and 
that  which  shone  forth  from  all  its  part?,  was  the  exercise  of 
reason  and  liberty. '^ 

"  There  ai  e  severa.  things  in  the  foregoing  paragraph?  not  quit? 
ftcc.jrately  put. 


120  GENERAL    HISTORV     (»F 

I  am  far,  notwitlistanding  all  this,  from  believing  ihat  the 
/icious  principles,  which  I  have  endeavored  to  exp.ain,  and 

The  assumption  of  the  right,  or  the  exercise  of  the  power  t 
•.oerce  faitli,  to  punish  physically  for  religious  opinions,  cannot  in- 
leed  be  too  strongly  condemned.  It  was  a  monstrous  tyranny  eX' 
iTcised  by  tiie  Churcli  at  this  period.  The  right  of  sepai-aling  I'ruin 
its  society  such  as  rejected  the  fundamental  articles  of  its  constiiu- 
:i'.-n,  is  entirely  a  dilferent  thing — being  a  right  inherent  in  every 
.lisociation,  nol  to  advert  here  to  any  grounds  on  which  the  obli'^a- 
'tan  to  do  so  was  thought  to  rest. 

Again  ;  in  regard  to  the  authority  of  the  Church  and  the  "  rights 
of  individual  reason" — here  undoubtedly,  in  the  corrupt  ages  of  the 
Church,  monstrous  abuses  ^rew  up;  yet  these  abuses  should  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  primitive  principle,  from  the  perversion  c*" 
which  they  sprang — the  principle  whicli  required  implicit  faith  in 
all  matters  divinely  revealed. — It  is  incorrect,  too,  to  represent  the 
Church,  even  at  its  most  corrupt  period,  as  maintaining  "  the  prin- 
•^in!?  of  the  imperative  transmission  of  doctrines  by  human  an- 
ihorily  established."  The  absolute  subjection  of  all  Church  au- 
thority, as  well  as  of  the  individual  members  of  the  Church,  to  the 
authority  of  the  Divine  Word,  was  always  held. 

Nor,  again,  does  the  Church  deserve  the  praise  given  to  it  in  the 
text  of  acting  in  its  councils  in  opposition  to  its  principles.  In  the 
councils,  the  Church  no  doubt  exercised  to  a  certain  extent  the 
right  inherent  in  all  ordinary  associations  of  legislating  for  itself 
In  all  matters  relating  to  rites,  ceremonies,  and  doctrines,  not  con- 
sidered to  be  definitively  settled  by  Divine  appointment,  these  coun- 
cils exercised  the  power  of  determining  by  their  own  authority. 
In  all  such  matters  there  was  scope  for  "discussion,  deliberation," 
an.1  arbitrary  preference.  But  when  the  question  was  concerninf 
any  fundamental  article  of  faith,  the  statement  that  "one  might 
fancy  one's  self  in  the  midst  of  the  philosophical  schools  of 
Greece,"  is  anything  but  true.  They  never  dreamed  of  settling 
any  &uch  question  by  excogitation,  speculation,  reasoning.  The 
appeal  was  to  the  ^acred  Scriptures  as  the  ultimate  and  absolute 
authority.  It  was  a  matter  of  interpretation.  If  the  sacred  writ- 
ings were  not  clear  and  decisive  in  themselves  of  the  point  in  ques- 
tion, the  next  and  only  inquiry  was,  what  could  be  historically 
uucertained  to  have  been  the  interpretation  sanctioned  by  the  uni 
versal  consent  of  the  Church  from  the  Apostolic  age  downwards, 
— and  that  was  held  to  be  decisive.  Such  was  always  the  theory 
of  the  Church  as  to  the  authority  of  its  councils:  it  wasnever 
imagined  that  the  ascertained  consent  of  the  Church  universal 
from  the  primitive  age,  in  regard  to  a  qnest'on  of  interpretation 
bearing  on  an  article  of  faith,  could  be  se'  aside,  by  any  discussion 
ir  Tote,  by  any  speculation  or  reasoning. 

Thus,  from  not  distinguishing  things  quite  distinct,  the  author's 
censure  on  the  one  band,  and  his  praise  on  the  other,  niav  convoy 
an  erroneous  iinnressi(jn. 


C'VILIZATIO.V     IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  I'il 

nhich,  in  my  opiiiion,  existed  in  the  Christian  Churcli,  exist- 
ed there  without  producing  any  eflect.  In  tlie  period  now 
under  review,  they  already  bore  very  bitter  fruits  ;  at  a  later 
period  tliey  l)ore  others  still  more  bitter  ;  still  they  did  not 
produce  all  the  evils  which  might  have  been  expected,  they 
lid  not  choke  the  good  which  sprang  up  in  the  same  soil. 
3uch  was  the  Church  considered  in  itself,  in  its  inierior,  in 
ilij  own  nature. 

Let  us  now  consider  it  in  its  relations  with  sovereign8,\ 
with  the  holders  of  temporal  authority.  This  is  the  second  ^' 
poll,    of  view  in  which  I  have  promised  to  consider  it.  ) 

•  When  at  the  fall  of  the  western  empire,  when,  instead  o{\ 
the  ancient  Roman  government,  under  which  the  Church  had  \ 
been  born,  under  which  she  had  grown  up,  with  which  she 
had  common  habits  and  old  connexions,  she  found  herself 
surrounded  by  barbarian  kings,  by  barbarian  chieftains,  wan- 
dering from  place  to  place,  or  shut  up  in  their  castles,  with 
whom  she  had  nothing  in  common,  between  whom  and  her 
there  was  as  yet  no  tie — neither  traditions,  nor  creeds,  nor 
feelings ;  her  danger  appeared  great,  and  her  fears  were 
equally  so. 

One  only  idea  became  predominant  in  the  Church  ;  it  was  to  \ 
take  possession  of  these  new-comers — to  convert  them.  The  | 
relations  of  the  Church  with  the  barbarians  had,  at  first,  ) 
scarcely  any  other  aim.'-' 

To  gain  these  barbarians,  the  most  effective  means  seemed  Vv 
to  be  to  dazzle  their  senses  and  work  upon  their  imagination  // 
Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  the  number,  pomp,  and  variety  of  ) 

>3  Some  of  the  barbarians  had  embraced  Christianity  before  their 
invasion  of  ihe  Roman  Empire.  Among  these  were  the  Goths, 
converted  in  the  fourth  century  by  their  bishops  Theophilus  and 
Qlphilas;  the  Heruli,  the  Suevi,  the  Vandals,  and  perhaps  the 
Lombards.  They  were  converted  by  Arian  missionaries,  and 
embraced  that  form  of  Christianity.  In  the  sixth  and  seventh  cen- 
>uries  "he  Suevi,  Visigoths,  and  Lombards  adopted  the  orthodox  j 
Hiiti:  the  Heruli,  Vandals,  and  Ostro-Goths  adhered  to  Arianism. 

Tlie  remarks  of  the  text  can  therefore  be  applied  literally  only     \ 
.1'  the  Bttrgundians,  Francs,  etc.,  by  whom  the  first  conquerors  of 
d»e  empire  were  swept  away.     Still,  the  Church  had  much  to  df     ' 
cvrn  ill  brinjjinsr  under  her  full  inflfence  the  first  barbarians. 


IZ'Z  GENERAL    HISTORY     OF 

;'/ 

reiigioua  ceremonies  were  at  this  epoch  wonderfrJl)'  incrcast  d. 
,'   'I'hc  ancient  chronicles  particularly  show,  that  it  was  prin 
!   cipally  in  this  way  that  the  Church  worked  upon  the  hjrb,?- 
\  ri  ins.     She  converted  them  by  grand  spectacles 

Bet  even  when  they  had  become  settled  and  converted, 
£von  after  th»^-  growth  of  some  common  ties  between  them, 
the  danger  of  Jie  Church  was  not  over.  The  brutality,  the 
unthinking,  the  unreflecting  character  of  the  barbarians  weie 
so  great,  that  the  new  faith,  the  new  feelings  with  which  they 
had  been  inspired,  exercised  but  a  very  slight  empire  ovei 
them.  When  every  part  of  society  .'Vll  a  prey  to  violence, 
the  Church  could  scarcely  hope  altogether  to  escape.  To  save 
herself  she  announced  a  principle,  which  had  already  been 
set  up,  though  but  very  vaguely,  under  the  empire ;  tlie  sepU- 
j-ation  of  spiritual  and  temporal  power,  and  their  mutual  in- 
dependence. It  was  by  the  aid  of  this  principle  that  the 
Church  dwelt  freely  by  the  side  of  the  barbarians  ;  she  main- 
tained that  force  had  ho  authority  over  religious  belief,  hopes, 
or  promises,  and  that  the  spiritual  and  temporal  worlds  are 
completely  distinct. 

You  caimot  fail  to  see  at  once  the  beneficial  consequences 
which  have  resulted  from  this  principle.  Independently  of 
the  temporary  service  it  was  of  to  the  Church,  it  has  had  the 
inestimable  uflect  of  founding  in  justice  the  separation  of  the 
two  authorities,  of  preventing  one  from  controlling  the  other, 
In  addition  to  this,  the  Church,  by  asserting  the  independence 
of  the  intellectual  world,  in  its  collective  form,  prepared  the 
independence  of  the  intellectual  world  in  individuals — the  in- 
dependence of  thought.  The  Church  declared  tliat  the  sys- 
tem of  religious  belief  could  not  be  brought  under  the  yoke 
of  force,  and  each  individual  has  been  led  to  hold  the  same 
language  for  himself.  The  principle  of  free  inquiry,  the 
liberty  of  individual  thought,  is  exactly  the  same  as  that  of  the 
independence  of  the  spiritual  authority  in  general,  with  regard 
to  temporul  power. 

The  desire  for  liberty,  unfortunately,  is  but  a  step  from  tlie 
i^Hiro  for  power.  The  Church  soon  passed  from  one  lo  the 
other.  Wiien  she  had  established  her  independence,  it  was 
In  accordance  with  the  natural  course  of  ambition  that  she 
should  attempt  to  rai«e  her  spiritual  authority  al)Ove  temporal 
authority.      We   must  not,  however,  suppose  tliat  this  daini 


CIMMZAIION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  123 

lad  any  other  origin  than  the  weaknesses  of  humanity  ,  3oine 
of  these  are  very  profound,  and  it  is  of  imoortance  that  they 
should  be  known. 

When  liberty  prevails  in  the  intellectual  world,  when  tho 
thoughts  and  consciences  of  men  are  not  enthralled  by  a  pow- 
BT   which   calls  in  question  their  right  of  deliberating,  of  do 
riding,  and  employs  its  authority  against  them  ;   when  there 
Is  no  visible  constituted  spiritual  government  laying  claim  t<) 
ihe  right  of  dictating  opinions  ;  in  such  circumstances,  the 
idea  of  the  domination  of  the  spiritual  order  over  the  tempo- 
lal  could  scarcely  spring  up.  Such  is  very  nearly  the  present  .i 
state  of  the  world.     But  when  there  exists,  as  there  did  in  the    \ 
tenth  century,  a  government  of  tho  spiritual  order ;  when  the    I 
l)Uinan  thought  and  conscience  are  subject  to  certain  laws,  lo    | 
certain   institutions,  to  certain  authorities,  which  have  arro- 
gated  to  themselves  the  right  to  govern,  to  constrain  them;  in 
short,   when   spiritual    authority  is  established,   when  it  has 
ed'ectively  taken  possession,  in  the  name  of  right  and  power, 
of  the  human  reason  and  conscience,  it  is  natural  that  it  should 
go  on  to  assume  a  domination  over  the  temporal  order ;  that 
it  should  argue  :  "  What !  have  I  a  right,  have  I  an  authority  \ 
over  that  which  is  most  elevated,  most  independent  in  man —   \ 
over  his  thoughts,  over  his  interior  will,  over  his  conscience  ; 
and  have  I  not  a  right  over  his  exterior,  his  temporal  and  ma-    j 
terial  interests  ?     Am  I  the  interpreter  of  divine  justice  and    ' 
truth,  and  yet  not  able  to  regulate  the  affairs  of  this  world  ac-  / 
cording  to  justice  and  truth  1" 

The  force  of  this  reasoning  shows  that  the  spiritual  order  \ 
had  a  natural  tendency  to  encroach  on  the  temporal.     This  \ 
tendency  was  increased  by  the  fact,  that  the  spiritual  order,    ', 
at  this  time,  comprised  all  the  intelligence  of  the  age,  every     ' 
possible  development  of  the  human  mind.     There   was  but    ' 
9U{y  science,  theology ;  but  one  spiritual  order,  the  theological ; 
all  the  other  sciences,  rhetoric,  arithmetic,  and  even  musi.", 
cei.tred  in  theology.  ^ 

'I'he  spiritual  power,  finding  itself  thus  in  possession  of  sU  ' 
the  intelligence  of  the  age,  at  the  head  of  all  intellectual  an-  ' 
ti>ity,  was  naturally  enough  led  to  arrogate  to  iiself  the  gene- 
ral government  of  the  world. 

A  seconJ  cause,  which  very  much  favored  its  views,  wzs 


124  GENERAL    HISTORV    OF       , 

j.'lhc  dieadful  state  of  the  temporal  order,  the    violence    and 
'iiiiiquity  which  prevailed  in  all  temporal  governments. 
'    For  some  centuries  past  j?aen  might  speak,  with  a  degree  nl 
.confidence,  of  temporal  power;  but  temporal  power,  at  the 
I  epoch  of  which  we  are  speaking,  was  mere  brutal  force,  u 
.'  syetenj  of  rapine  and  violence.     The  Church,  however  im 
,'•  fierfoct  might  be  her  notions  of  morality  and  justice,  was  i)i- 
I  tiEitely  superior  to  a  temporal  government  such  as  this  ;  an.l 
'tlie  cry  of  the  people  continually  urged  her  to  take  its  placj 
/     When  a  pope  or  bishop  proclaimed  that  a  sovereign  had 
//lost  his  rights,  that  his  subjects  were  released  from  their  oath 
/    of  fidelity,  this  interference,  though  undoubtedly  liable  to  the 
,    greatjst  abuses,  was  often,  in  the  particular  case  to  which  it 
was  direcied,  just  and  salutary.      It  generally  holds,  indeed, 
'    that  where  liberty  is  wanting,  religion,  in  a  great  measure 
supplies  its  place.     In  the  tenth  century,  the  oppressed  na- 
tions were  not  in  a  state  to  protect  themselves,  to  defend  their 
rights  against  civil  violence — religion,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
placed  itself  between  them.     This  is  one  of  the  causes  which 
most    contributed  to  the  success  of  the  usurpations  of  the 
Church. 

There  is  a  third  cause,  which,  in  my  opinion,  has  not  been 
sufficiently  noticed.  This  is  the  manifold  character  and  situa- 
tion of  the  leaders  of  the  Church  ;  the  variety  of  asj)ecta 
under  which  they  appeared  in  society.  On  one  side  they 
were  prelates,  members  of  the  ecclesiastical  order,  a  portion 
of  the  spiritual  power,  and  as  such  independent :  on  the  other, 
they  were  vassals,  and  by  this  title  formed  one  of  the  links 
of  civil  feudalism.  But  this  was  not  all :  besides  being  vas- 
sals, they  were  also  subjects.  Something  similar  to  the  an- 
cient relations  in  vhich  the  bishops  and  clergy  had  stood  to- 
wards the  Roman  emperors  i.ow  existed  between  the  clergy 
and  the  barbarian  sovereigns.  A  series  of  causes,  which  it 
would  be  teilious  to  detail,  had  brought  the  bishops  to  look 
upon  the  barbarian  kings,  to  a  certain  degree,  as  the  succes- 
sors of  tlie  fioman  emperors,  and  to  attribute  to  them  tlic 
eame  rights.  The  heads  of  the  clergy  then  had  a  tlireefold 
slmracter  •  first,  they  were  ecclesiastics,  and  as  such  held  to 
ihe  performance  of  certain  duties  ;  secondly,  they  were  feudaj 
viuisals,  with  the  rights  and  obligations  of  such  ;  thirdly,  thoy 
were  .mere  subjects,  and  as  such  brund  to  render  obedience 
to  an  ali&ulute  sovereign.    Observe  the  necessary  conb'ijuencc 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODEIIN      EUROPE.  123 

jt  t»  <h.  Tlie  tnmporal  sovereigns,  no  wliil  loss  cnvotous,  n(. 
whit  less  ambitious  than  the  bisliops,  freciuently  made  use  of 
their  temporal  power,  as  superiors  or  sovereigns,  to  attack  tlie 
inde[)eii(lence  of  the  Church,  to  usurp  the  right  of  collating  to 
bcMiefices,  of  nominating  to  bishopricks,  and  so  on.  On  the 
olher  side,  the  bishops  often  sheltered  themselves  under  thoil 
•.{liriliial  independence  to  r(!fuse  the  p(!rformance  of  their  obli- 
gations as  vassals  and  subjects  ;  so  that  on  both  sides  there 
was  an  inevitable  tendency  to  trespass  on  the  rights  of  iho 
other  :  on  the  side  of  the  sovereigns,  to  destroy  spiritual  in- 
dependence ;  on  the  side  of  the  heads  of  the  Church,  to 
make  their  spiritual  independence  the  means  of  universal 
dominion. 

This  result  snowed  itself  sufilciently  plain  in  events  veil 
ki-.own  to  you  all  ;  in  the  quarrel  respecting  investitures  ;  in  i 
iho  struggle  between  the  Holy  See  and  the  Empire.  The 
tlirecfold  character  of  tlie  heads  of  the  Church,  and  the  difTi-  I 
culty  of  preventing  them  from  trespassing  on  one  another,  ; 
was  the  real  cause  of  the  uncertainty  and  strife  of  all  its  ! 
pretensions. 

Finally,  the  Church  had  a  third  connexion  with  the  so\e-\ 
reigns,  and  it  was  to  her  the  most  disastrous  and  fatal.  Sh'i  \\ 
laid  claim  to  the  right  of  coercion,  to  the  right  of  restraining  ]', 
and  punishing  heresy.  But  she  had  no  means  by  which  to  do 
this  ;  she  had  no  physical  force  at  her  disposal :  when  she 
had  condenmed  the  heretic,  she  was  without  the  power  tc 
carry  her  sentence  into  execution.  What  was  the  conse- 
quence? She  called  to  1. 3r  aid  the  secular  arm;  she  had  to  /' 
borrow  the  power  of  the  civil  authority  as  the  means  of  com^  / 
pulsion.  To  what  a  wretched  shift  was  she  thus  driven  by  / 
the  adoption  of  the  wicked  and  detestable  principles  of  coec-' 
cion  and  persecution! 

I  must  stop  here.  There  is  not  sufficient  time  for  us  to 
finish  our  investigation  of  the  Church.  We  have  still  t<i 
consider  its  relation  with  the  people,  the  principles  which 
prevailed  in  its  intercourse  with  them,  and  what  consequences 
resulted  from  its  bearing  upon  civilization  in  general.  I  shall 
afterwards  endeavor  to  confirm  by  history,  by  facts,  by  whal 
befell  the  Church  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  the  in- 
Jiictions  which  we  ha.vo  drawn  from  the  nature  of  her  insti 
rutions  and  principles. 


LECTURE  Yl 

THE    CHURCH. 

[n  ihe  presen  .ecture  we  shall  conclude  our  inquiries  re 
jnecting  the  state  of  the  Church.  In  llie  last,  1  staled  that  I 
snould  place  it  before  you  in  tliree  principal  points  of  view : 
first,  in  itself — in  its  interior  constinition  and  nature,  as  a  dis- 
tinct and  independent  society :  secondly,  in  its  relations  with 
sovereigns,  with  temporal  power ;  thirdly,  in  its  relations 
with  the  people.  Having  then  been  able  to  accomplish  no 
more  than  the  first  two  parts  of  niy  task,  it  remains  for  me  to- 
day to  place  before  you  the  church  in  its  .elations  with  the 
peojde.  I  shall  endeavor,  after  I  have  done  this,  to  sum  up 
this  threefold  examination,  and  to  give  a  general  judgment 
respecting  the  jnfluence  of  the  church  from  the  fifth  to  the 
twelfth  century  ;  finally,  I  shall  close  this  part  of  my  subject 
by  verifying  my  statements  by  an  appeal  to  facts,  by  an  ex- 
amination of  the  history  of  the  Church  during  this  period. 

You  will  easily  understand  that,  in  speaking  of  the  relations 
of  the  Church  with  the  people,  1  shall  be  obliged  'o  confine 
myself  tc  very  general  views.  It  is  impossible  that  I  should 
enter  into  a  detail  of  tlie  practices  of  the  Church,  or  recount 
the  daily  intercourse  of  the  clergy  with  their  charge.  It  is 
he  prevailing  principles,  and  the  great  eflects  of  the  system 
and  conduct  (jI"  the  Cliurch  towards  the  body  of  Christians,  thai 
I  shall  endeavor  to  bring  before  you. 


A  striking  (eature,  and,  I  am  bound  to  say,  a  radical  vice  m 
/he  relations  of  the  Church  with  the  neople,  was  the  sepam 
lion  of  the  governors  and  the  governed  which  lefi  the  govcniod 
without  any  infiuence  upon  their  government,  which  estiiMish 
cd  the  indt.pendence  of  the  clergy  with  respect  to  the  geneui 
Dody  of  Christians. 

It  would  seem  as  if  this  evil  was  called  forch  by  the  stjtt) 
uf  man  and  Rociety,  for  it  was  introduced  into  tlie  Cluistiar. 


ClVrLIZATION    IN    MODERN      EUROPE.  12*1 

Clnirch  at  a  very  early  period.  The  separation  of  the  clergy 
and  ihc  people  was  not  altogether  perfected  at  the  time  of 
which  we  are  speaking  ;  there  were  certain  occasions — the 
election  of  bishops,  for  example — upon  which  tho  people,  al 
least  sometimes,  took  part  in  church  government.  This  in* 
terfercnce,  however,  became  weaker  and  weaker,  as  well  aa 
more  rare  ;  even  in  the  second  century  it  had  begim  rapidly 
•{rd  visibly  to  decline.  Indeed,  the  tendency  of  the  Church  to 
l«  lacli  itself  from  the  rest  of  society,  the  establishment  of  the 
(ndt,'pej)(](,tice  of  the  clergy,  forms,  to  a  great  extent,  the  his- 
tory of  the  Church  from  its  very  cradle.  ' 

It  is  impossible  to  disguise  the  fact,  that  from  this  circum-\ 
stance  sprang  the  groa-ter  number  of  abuses,  which,  from  Jliis 
period,  cost  the  Clnirch  so  dear  ;  as  well  as  many  others  which 
entered  into  her  system  in  after-times.      We  must  not,  how- 
ever, impute  all  its  faults  to  this  principle,  nor  must  we  regard  ' 
his  tendency  to  isolation  as  peculiar  to  the  Christian   clergy. 
There  is  in  the  very  nature  of  religious  society  a  powerful  in- 
clination to  elevate  the  governors  above  the  governed  ;  to  re- 
gard them  as  something  distinct,  something  divine.     This  is 
the  efl'ect  of  the  mission  with  which  they  are  charged  ;  of  the 
character  in  which  they  appear  before  the  people.     This  ef- 
fect, however,  is  more  hurtful  in  a  religious  society  than  in  any 
other.     For  with  what  do  they  pretend  to  interfere  1     With 
the  reason  and  conscience  and  future  destiny  of  man  :   that  is 
to  say,  with  that  which  is  the   closest  locked  up ;   with  that 
which  is  most  strictly  individual,  with  that  which  is  most  free. 
We  can  imagine  how,  uy  to  a  certain  point,  a  man,  whatever 
ill  may  result  from  it,  may  give  up  the  direction  of  his  tempo- 
ral  afl'airs   to   an   outward  authority.     We  can  conceive  a  no- 
tion of  that  philosopher  who,  when  one  told  him  that  his  house 
was  on  fire,  said,  "  Go  and  tell  my  wife  ;   I  never  meddle  with^ 
household  affairs. "     But  when  our  conscience,  our  thoughts,  \ 
.?ur  intellectual  existence  are  at  stake — to  give  up  the  govern 
ment  of  one's  self,  to  deliver  over  one's  very  soul  to  the  author 
(ty  of  a  stranger,  is,  indeed,  a  moral  suicide  :   is,  indeed,  a  j 
tliouaand  times  worse  than  bodily  servitude — than  to  become  / 
%  mere  appurtenance  of  the  soil. 

Such,  nevertheless,  was  the  evil,  which  without  ever,  as  1   ■ 
jhall  presently  show,  completely  prevailing,  invaded  more  and 
•jiore  the  Christian  Church  in  its  relations  with  the  people. 
We  have  already  seen,  that  even  m  the  bosom  of  the  Churcll 
tsclf.  the  lower  orders  of  the  clergy  had  no  guarantee  for  ihei' 


l-o  GENERAL     HISTCRY     OP 

liberty  ,   it  was  much  worse,  out  of  tl.e  Church,  for  ihc  Lit) 

Among  cliurcliiuen  llierc  wus  at  loast  (hbcussioii,  dcliljoration 

the  display  of  individual  faculties  ;  the  struggle,  itsidf,  su{»- 

plied  in  some  measure  the  place  of  liberty.    There  was  nothing, 

'  however,  like  this  between  the  clergy  and  tlie  people.     The 

I    laity  had  no  further  share  in  the  government  of  the  Church 

Ih^n  as  simple  lookers-on.     Thus  we  see  quickly  shoot  up  and 

thrive,  the  idea  that  theology,  that  religious  questions  and  al- 

fairs,  were   the  privileged   territory  of  the   clergy  ;  that  the 

clergy  alone  had  the  right,  not  only  to  decide  upon  all  matters 

respecting  it,  but  likewise  that  they  alone  had  the  right  to  study 

it,  and  that  tlie  laity  ought  not  to  intermeddle  with  it.     At  the 

period  of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  this  theory  had  fully 

I    established  its  authority   and  it  has  required  ages,  and  revo* 

j    lutions  fidl  of  terror,  to  overcome  it ;  to  restore  to  tlie  publi  i 

i    the  right  of  debating  religious  questions,  and  inquiring  in' J 

their  truths. 

In  principle,  then,  as  well  as  in  fact,  the  legal  separation 
of  the  clergy  and  the  laity  was  nearly  completed  before  the 
twelfth  century. 

it  must  not,  however,  be  understood,  that  tlie  Christian 
world  had  no  influence  upon  its  government  during  this  period. 
Of  legal  interference  it  was  destitute,  but  not  of  influence.  It 
is,  indeed,  almost  impossible  that  such  should  be  llie  case  un- 
der any  kind  of  government,  and  more  particularly  so  of  one 
founded  upon  the  common  opinions  and  belief  of  the  govern- 
ing and  governed.  For,  wherever  this  comnmnity  of  ideas 
springs  up  and  expands,  wherever  the  same  intellectual  move- 
ment carries  onward  for  government  and  the  people,  there 
necessarily  becomes  formed  between  them  a  tie,  which  no 
vice  in  their  organization  can  ever  altogether  break.  To 
make  you  clearly  understand  what  I  mean,  I  will  give  you  an 
example,  familiar  to  us  all,  taken  from  the  political  world 
At  no  period  in  the  history  of  France  had  the  French  nation 
less  power  of  a  legal  nature,  I  mean  by  way  of  institutions, 
of  interfering  in  the  government,  than  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  during  the  reigns  of  Louis  XIV.  and  XV. 
All  the  direct  and  oflicial  mear.s  by  which  the  people  couM 
ixercise  any  authority  had  bet  n  cut  oil"  and  suppressed.  Yt  i 
there  cannot  be  a  doubt  but  that  the  pul  lie,  the  country,  ei- 
ercised,  at  this  time,  more  influence  upon  the  government  thau 
41  any  other,  more,  for  example,  than  when  the  states  gci' 


iM\  II.IZATION     IN     MonF.RN     EUROPE.  lijfl 

erui  had  been  fmcitieiilly  convoked  ;  tlian  wlicn  tlie  jiarlia 
mcnts  interinoddlcd  to  a  considerable  extent  in  politics,  than 
when  the  people  had  a  much  greater  legal  participation  in  the 
government. 

It  must  have  been  observed  by  all  that  there  exists  a  povvei 
which  no  law  can  comprise  or  suppress,  and  which,  in  timoE 
of  need,  goes  even  further  than  institutions.  Call  it  the  spiril 
;k  the  age,  public  intelligence,  opinion,  or  what  you  will,  yon 
cannot  doubt  its  existence.  In  France,  during  the  seven 
teenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  this  public  opinion  was  moro 
powerful  thai  at  any  other  epoch  ;  and,  though  it  was  de- 
prived of  the  legal  means  of  acting  upon  the  government,  yet 
it  acted  indirectly,  by  the  force  of  ideas  common  to  the  gov- 
erning and  the  governed,  by  the  absolute  necessity  undei 
wliich  the  governing  found  themselves  of  attending  to  the 
opinions  of  the  governed.  What  took  place  in  the  Church 
from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century  was  very  similar  to  this. 
The  body  of  the  Christian  world,  it  is  true,  had  no  legal  meana 
of  expressing  its  desires;  but  there  was  a  great  advancemenJ 
of  mind  in  religious  matters  :  this  movement  bore  along  cler- 
gy and  laity  together,  and  in  this  way  the  people  acted  upon 
the  Church. 

It  is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  these  indirect  influen 
ces  should  be  kept  in  view  in  the  study  of  history.  They  are 
much  more  efficacious,  and  often  more  salutary,  than  we  take 
Ihem  to  be.  It  is  very  natural  that  men  should  wish  their  in 
(luence  to  be  prompt  and  apparent;  that  they  should  covet  the 
credit  of  promoting  success,  of  establishing  power,  of  pro- 
curing triumph.  But  this  is  not  always  either  possible  oi 
useful.  There  are  times  and  situations  when  the  indirect, 
unperceived  influence  is  more  beneficial,  more  practicable. 
Let  me  borrow  another  illustration  from  politics.  We  know 
that  the  English  parliament  more  than  once,  and  particularly 
in  1641,  demanded,  as  many  other  popular  assemblies  have 
done  in  f  ich  cases,  the  power  to  nominate  the  ministers  anO 
great  officers  of  the  crown.  The  immense  direct  force  whit  i, 
by  this  means  it  would  exercise  upon  the  government  was  ip- 
tirdsd  as  a  precious  guarantee.  But  how  has  it  turnod  out ' 
Why,  in  the  few  cases  in  which  it  has  been  permitted  lo  pos- 
sess this  power,  the  result  has  been  always  unfavorable.  The 
choice  has  been  badly  concerted  ;  affairs  badly  conducted 
But  what  is  the  case  in  the  present  day  ?  Is  it  not  the  in- 
fluence of  the  two  houses  of  parliament  which  detrrinine* 


130  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

ilie  choice  of  ministers,  and  the  nomination  to  all  the  great, 
afllces  of  state  ?  And,  though  this  influence  be  indirect  and 
general,  it  is  found  to  work  better  than  tne  direct  interferonce 
of  parliament    tvhich  has  always  terminated  badly. 

There  is  one  reason  why  this  should  be  so,  which  I  must 
beg  leave  to  lay  before  you,  at  the  expense  of  a  few  minutcc 
of  your  time.  The  direct  action  upon  government  suppo.ses 
ll  jstj  to  whom  it  is  confided  possessed  of  superior  talents — 
of  superior  information,  understanding,  and  prudence.  As 
they  go  CO  the  object  at  once,  and  per  saltern  as  it  were,  they 
must  be  sure  not  to  miss  their  mark.  Indirect  influences,  on 
the  contrary,  pursuing  a  tortuous  course — only  arriving  at 
their  object  through  numerous  dilficulties — become  rectified 
and  adapted  to  their  end  by  the  very  obstacles  they  have  to 
encounter.  Before  they  can  succeed,  they  must  undergo  dis- 
cussion, be  combated  and  controlled  ;  their  triumph  is  slow, 
conditional,  and  partial.  It  is  on  this  account  that  where  so- 
ciety is  not  sufliciently  advanced  to  make  it  prudent  to  place 
immediate  power  in  the  hands  of  the  people,  these  indirect 
influences,  though  often  insuflicient,  are  nevertheless  to  be 
preferred.  It  was  by  such  that  the  Christian  world  acted 
upon  its  government ; — acted,  I  must  allow,  very  inadequately 
—by  far  too  little  ;  but  still  it  is  something  that  it  acted  at  all. 

There  was  another  thing  which  strengthened  the  tie  be- 
tween the  clergy  and  laity.  This  was  the  dispersion  of  the 
clergy  into  every  part  of  the  social  system.  In  almost  all 
other  cases,  where  a  church  has  been  formed  independent  of 
the  people  whom  it  governed,  the  body  of  priests  has  been 
composed  of  men  in  nearly  the  same  condition  of  life.  I  do 
not  mean  that  the  inequalities  of  rank  were  not  sufliciently 
^xeat  among  them,  but  that  the  power  was  lodged  in  the  hands 
of  colleges  of  priests  living  in  common,  and  governing  the 
people  submitted  to  their  laws  from  the  innermost  recess  of 
some  sacred  temple.  The  organization  of  the  Christian 
Church  was  widely  diflerent.  From  the  thatched  cottage  of 
he  husbandman — from  the  miserable  hut  of  the  serf  at  the 
<bot  of  the  feudal  chateau  to  the  palace  of  the  monarch 
— there  was  everywhere  a  clergyman.  This  diversity  in  the 
siluatior  of  the  Chri«lian  priesthood,  their  participation  in  all 
the  varied  fortunes  of  humanity — of  common  life — was  a 
great  Ijund  of  union  between  ihe  laity  and  clergy ;  a  bond 
Khich  lias  been  wanting    ii  most  other  hierarchies  investei* 


Cll'Il.IZ^TION    IN    MODERN     EUROFE.  1^1 

«ritU  power  Besides  this,  the  bish  )p3,  the  lieads  o(  the 
Christian  ch^rgy,  were,  as  we  have  seen,  mixed  up  wiih  the 
leudal  system  :  they  were,  at  the  same  time,  menibers  of  the 
civil  and  of  the  ecclesiastical  governments.  This  naturally 
led  to  similarity  of  feeling,  of  interests,  of  habits,  and  of  man- 
ners, in  the  clergy  an  1  laity.  There  has  been  a  good  J;<ja' 
Kaid,  and  with  reason,  of  military  bishops,  of  priests  who  led 
secular  lives  ;  but  we  may  be  assured  that  this  evil,  however 
great,  was  not  so  hurtful  as  the  system  which  kept  priests  lor 
ever  locked  up  in  a  temple,  altogether  separated  from  common 
life.  Bishops  who  took  a  share  in  the  cares,  and,  up  to  a  car- 
tain  point,  in  the  disorders  of  civil  life,  were  of  more  use  in 
society  than  those  who  were  altogether  strangers  to  the  people 
to  their  wants,  their  aflairs,  and  their  manners.  In  our  sys- 
tem there  has  been,  in  this  respect,  a  similarity  of  fortune,  of 
condition,  which,  if  it  have  not  altogether  corrected,  has,  at 
east,  softened  the  evil  which  the  separation  of  the  governing 
ind  governed  must  in  all  cases  prove. 

Now,  having  pointed  out  this  separation,  having  endeavor- 
ed to  determine  its  extent,  let  us  see  how  the  Christian  Cnurch 
governed — let  us  see  in  what  way  it  acted  upon  the  people 
under  its  authority. 

"What  did  it  do,  on  one  hand,  for  the  development  of  man, 
for  the  intellectual  progress  of  the  individual  ?  • 

What  did  it  do,  on  the  other,  for  the  melioration  of  the  so- 
cial system  ? 


With  regard  to  individual  development,  I  fear  the  Church, 
at  this  epoch,  gave  herself  but  little  trouble  about  it.  She  en- 
deavored to  soften  the  rugged  manners  of  the  great,  and  to  \ 
tender  them  more  kind  and  just  in  their  conduct  towards  the 
VVC1IC.  She  endeavored  to  inculcate  a  life  of  morality  among 
the  poor,  and  to  inspire  them  with  higher  sentiments  and  hopee 
han  tlie  lot  in  which  they  were  cast  would  give  rise  to. 
/  believe  not,  however,  that  for  individual  man — for  the 
1)2 wing  forth  or  advancement  of  his  capacities — that  the 
Church  did  much,  especially  for  the  laity,  during  this  period 
SVhat  she  did  in  this  way  was  confined  to  the  bosom  of  huf 
9 


132  OEXERAL    HlSTORy    OV 

,  3wn  society.     For  the  developinent  of  the  clergy,  for  (he  in 
'    Mruciioii  of  the  priesthood,  she  was  anxiously  alive  :   to  pro 
/    mote  this  she  had  her  schools   her  colleges,  and  all  oihur  in- 
I     etitutions  which  the  deplorable  state  of  society  would  per- 
mit.    These  schools  and  coileges,  it  is  true,  were  all  thelogi- 
I     cal,  and  destined  for  the  education  of  the  clergy  alone  ;  and 
I      though,  from  the  intimacy  between  the  civil  and    religious 
'      orders,  they  could  not  but  have  some  influence  upon  the  res. 
3f  the   world,  it  was  very  slow  and  indirect.     It  cannot,  in- 
deed, be  denied  but  the  Church,  too,  necessarily  excited  and 
I       kept  alive  a  general  activity  of  mind,  by  the  career  which 
\      she  opened  to  all  tliose  whom  she  judged  worthy  to  enlist  in- 
\     to  her  ranks,  but  beyond  this  she  did  little  for  the  intellectual 
V    improvement  of  the  laity. 


For  the  melioration  of  the  social  state  ner  labors  were 
greater  and  more  eflicacious. 

She  combated  with  much  persoverance  and  pertinacity  the 
great  vices  of  the  social  condition,  particularly  slavery.  It 
has  been  frequently  asserted  that  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the 
modern  world  must  be  altogether  carried  to  the  credit  of 
Christianity.  I  believe  this  is  going  too  far  :  slavery  subsist- 
ed for  a  long  time  in  the  bosom  of  Christian  society  without 
much  notice  being    taken  of   it — without   any   great   outcry 

.against  it.  To  effect  its  abolition  required  the  co-operation  o( 
several  causes — a  great  development  of  new  ideas,  of  new 
principles  of  civilization.  It  cannot,  however,  be  denied  that 
the  Church  employed  its  influence  to  restrain  it  ;  the  clergy 
in  general,  and  especially  several  popes,  enforced  the  manu- 
mission of  their  slaves  as  a  duly  incumbent  upon  laymen,  and 
loudly  inveighed  against  the  scandal  of  keeping  Christians  in 

■bondage.  Again,  the  greater  pari  of  the  forms  by  which 
slaves  were  set  free,  at  various  epochs,  are  founded  upon  re- 
ligious motives.  It  is  unde-  the  impression  of  some  religious 
ceeling — the  hopes  of  the  future,  the  equality  of  all  Christiari 

linen,  and  so  on — that  the  freedom  of  tlie  slave  is  granted. 

U'hese,  it  must  be  confessed,  are  rather  convincing  proofs  of 

\he  influence  of  the  Church,  and  of  her  desire  for  the  abolitioii 
\{  this  evil  of  evils   this  iniqu'ty  of  iniquities  ! 

The  church  did  cot  labor  less  worthily  for  tho  improvemer\! 


nviLIZAl  fON    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  133 

.>f  civil  and  criminal  Ingislation.  We  know  to  what  a  terrible^ 
extent,  notwitlistaiuling  some  few  principles  of  liberty,  this  l 
was  absurd  and  wrotclied  ;  we  have  read  of  the  irrational  and 
Biiperstitions  proofs  to  which  the  barbarians  occasionally  had 
recourse — their  trial  by  battle,  their  ordeals,  their  «<atlis  of 
compurgation — as  the  only  means  by  which  they  could  d;»' 
cover  the  truth.  To  replace  these  by  more  rational  and  le« 
gitimate  proceedings,  the  Church  earnestly  labored,  and  labored 
not  in  vain.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  striking  dilfcrence 
hetween  the  laws  of  the  Visigoths,  mostly  promulgated  by  the 
councils  of  Toledo,  and  the  codes  of  the  barbarians.  It  ia 
impossible  to  compare  them  without  at  once  admitting  the  im- 
mei'se  superiority  of  the  notions  of  the  Church  in  matters  of 
juri.'5prudence,  justice,  and  legislation — in  all  relating  to  the 
discovery  of  truth,  and  a  knowledge  of  human  nature.  It  must 
certainly  be  admitted  that  the  greater  part  of  these  notions 
were  borrowed  from  Roman  legislation;  but  it  is  not  less 
certain  that  they  would  have  perished  if  the  Church  had  not 
preserved  and  defended  them — if  she  had  not  labored  to  spread 
them  abroad.  If  the  question,  for  example,  is  respecting  the 
eniployment  of  oaths,  open  the  laws  of  the  Visigoths,  and  see 
with  what  prudence  it  controls  their  use  : — 

Let  the  judge,  in  order  to  come  ai  the  truth,  first  interrogate  the 
witnesses,  then  examine  the  papers,  and  not  allow  of  oaths  too 
easily.  The  investigation  of  truth  and  justice  demands,  that  the 
documents  on  both  sides  should  be  carefully  examined,  and  that  the 
necessity  of  the  oath,  suspended  over  the  head  of  both  parties,  slioulf' 
only  come  unexpectedly.  Let  the  oath  only  be  adopted  in  cause= 
in  which  the  judge  shall  be  able  to  discover  no  written  document?, 
no  proof,  nor  guide  to  the  truth. 

In  criminal  matters,  the  punishment  is  proportioned  to  thw 
offence,  according  to  tolerably  correct  notions  of  philosophy 
morals,  and  justice  ;  the  eflbrts  of  an  enlightened  legislator 
struggling  against  the  violence  and  caprice  of  barbarian  man- 
ners. The  title  of  ccpde  et  morte  hominum  gives  us  a  very  fa- 
voiable  example  of  this,  when  compared  with  the  correspond- 
mg  laws  of  the  other  nations.  Among  the  latter,  it  is  tli? 
'laniage  alone  which  seems  to  constitute  the  crime  ;  and  the 
punishment  is  sought  for  in  the  pecuniary  reparation  which  is 
made  m  compounding  for  it ;  but  in  the  code  of  the  Visigoths 
fhe  crime  is  traced  to  its  true  and  moral  principle — the  inten- 
inn  of  the  perpetrator.     Various  shades  of  guiU — involuntdry 


134  OKNKRAL     HISTORY     OF 

hoinicido,  chance-medley  homicide,  justifiable  nomicide,  un 
premeditated  homicide,  and  vvilHil  murder — are  distiiiguisheu 
and  defined  nearly  as  accurately  as  in  our  modern  codes  ;  the 
punishments  likewise  varying,  so  as  to  make  a  fair  approxi- 
mation to  justice.  The  legislator,  indeed,  carried  the  prinsiv 
pit;  of  justice  still  further.  He  endeavored,  if  not  to  abolish, 
a  least  to  lessen,  that  difTerence  of  legal  value,  which  thfl 
o^.her  barbarian  laws  put  upon  the  life  of  man.  The  only  dia- 
linction  here  made  was  between  the  freeman  and  the  slave. 
Witji  regard  to  the  freeman,  the  punishment  did  not  vary  eithei 
according  to  the  perpetrator,  or  according  to  the  rank  of  the 
slain,  but  only  according  to  the  moral  guilt  of  the  murderer. 
With  regard  to  slaves,  not  daring  entiielj  to  dej  rive  mastera 
of  the  right  of  life  and  death,  he  at  least  endeavored  to  restrain 
it  and  destroy  its  brutal  character  by  subjecting  it  to  an  open 
and  regular  procedure. 

The  law  itself  is  worthy  of  attention  and  I  therefore  shall 
give  it  at  length  ; — 

"  If  no  one  who  is  culpable,  or  the  accomplice  In  a  crime,  ough 
to  go  unpunished,  how  much  more  reasonable  is  it  that  those  should 
be  restrained  who  commit  iiumicide  maliciously,  or  from  a  slight 
cause  !  Thus,  as  masters  in  their  pride  often  put  their  slaves  to 
death  without  any  cause,  it  is  proper  to  extirpate  altogether  this 
license,  and  to  decree  thai  the  present  law  shall  he  for  ever  binding 
upon  all.  No  master  or  mistress  shqll  have  power  to  put  to  death 
any  of  their  slaves,  male  or  female,  or  any  of  their  dependants, 
without  public  judgment.  If  any  slave,  or  other  servant,  commits 
a  crime  which  renders  them  subject  to  capital  punishment,  his 
master  or  his  accuser  shall  immediately  give  information  to  the 
judge,  or  count,  or  duke,  of  the  place  in  which  the  crime  has  been 
perpetrated.  After  tlie  matter  has  been  tried,  if  the  crime  is  prov 
ed,  le'  the  criminal  receive,  either  by  the  judge  or  by  his  own  mas- 
ter, the  sentence  of  death  which  he  has  merited;  in  such  manner, 
however,  that  if  the  judge  desires  not  to  put  the  accused  to  death, 
he  must  draw  up  against  him  in  writing,  a  capital  sentence,  and 
tijen  it  will  remain  with  his  master  to  kill  him  or  grant  him  his 
liie.  But  when,  indeed,  a  slave,  by  a  fatal  audacity,  in  resistuif> 
his  master,  shall  strike,  or  attempt  to  strike  him  with  his  arm,  with 
a  btone,  or  by  any  other  means  ;  and  the  master,  in  defending  him- 
eelf,  kills  the  slave  in  his  anget,  the  master  shall  in  nowise  be  lia- 
ble to  the  punishment  of  bomicide.  But  it  will  be  necessary  to 
ttove  that  the  fact  has  so  happened;  and  that  by  ilie  testimony  oi 
r*ath  of  the  sla>es,  malj  or  '"male,  who  witnessed  it,  and  also  by 
•Jie  oath  of  the  person  himself  who  committed  the  deed.  Whoso- 
'»er  from  pure  malice  shall  kill  a  slave  himself,  or  employr  anothci 


CIVIUZA  nON     IN     MODERN     F.l'UOrF,  135 

0  do  BO,  without  his  having  been  publicly  tried,  shall  bt  consider 
id  infatiious,  sliall  be  declared  incapable  of  giving  evidence,  shall 
:.e  banisncd  for  life,  and  his  property  be  given  to  his  nearest 
leirs."— (For.  J'ud.  L.  VI.  tit.  V.,  1.  12.) 

There  is  anoider  circumstance  connected  with  tl  <;  ii\8tila- 
'ions  of  the  Chinch,  which  has  not,  in  general,  been  so  much 
ttoticed  as  it  deser>es.  I  allude  to  its  penitentiary  systenr, 
jvhich  is  the  more  interesting  in  the  present  day,  because,  bo 
far  as  the  principles  and  applications  of  moral  law  arc  con- 
cerned, it  is  almost  completely  in  unison  with  the  notions  of 
modern  i)lulosophy.  If  we  look  closely  into  the  nature  of  the 
punishments  inflicted  by  the  Church  at  public  penance,  which 
was  its  principal  mode  of  punishing,  we  shall  find  that  their 
object  was,  above  all  other  things,  to  excite  repentance  in  the 
soul  of  the  guilty  ;  in  that  of  the  lookers  on,  the  moral  terror 
of  example.  But  there  is  another  idea  which  mixes  itself  up 
with  this — the  idea  of  expiation.  I  know  not,  generally 
speaking,  wlicther  it  be  possible  to  separate  the  idea  of  ptmish- 
ment  from  tliat  of  expiation  ;  and  whether  there  be  not  in  all 
punishment,  independently  of  the  desire  to  awaken  the  guilty 
to  repentance,  and  to  deter  those  from  vice  who  might  be  un- 
der temptation,  a  secret  and  imperious  desire  to  expiate  the 
wrong  committed.  Putting  this  question,  however,  aside,  it  is 
stifficiently  evident  that  repentance  and  example  were  the  ob- 
jects proposed  by  the  Church  in  every  part  of  its  system  of 
penance.  And  is  not  the  attainment  of  these  very  objects  the 
end  of  every  truly  philosophical  legislation  ?  Is  it  not  for  the 
sake  of  these  very  principles  that  the  most  eidightened  law- 
yers have  clamored  for  a  reform  in  the  penal  legislation  of 
Europe  ?  Open  their  books — those  of  Jeremy  Bentham  for 
example — and  you  will  be  astonished  at  the  numerous  resem- 
blances which  you  will  everywhere  find  between  their  plans 
of  punishment  and  those  adopted  by  the  Church.  We  may  be 
quite  sure  that  they  have  not  borrowed  them  from  her  ;  and 
the  Church  could  scarcely  foresee  that  her  example  would  one 
(lav  be  quoted  in  support  of  the  system  of  philosophers  not 
very  remarkalile  for  their  devotion. 

i'Mnally,  she  endeavored  by  every  means  in  her  powtir  to 
suppress  the  frequent  recourse  which  at  this  period  was  had 
to  violence  and  the  continual  wars  to  which  society  was  so 
Dionc      Ji  IS  well  known  what  the  truce  of  God  was.  as  weU 


(36  GENERAL    HISTORY     Of 

as  a  number  Oi  other  similar  measures  by  which  the  OhurcL 
hoptcl  to  prevent  the  emplojTiient  of  physical  force,  a\»d  to  iu- 
Iroduce  into  the  social  system  more  order  and  gentlenesa 
The  facts  under  this  head  are  so  well  known,  that  1  shall  nol 
go  intc  any  detail  concerning  them  '* 


Having  now  run  over  the  principal  points  to  which  I  wish- 
ed to  draw  attention  respecting  the  relations  of  tlie  Church  to 
the  people  ;  having  now  considered  it  under  the  three  as- 
pects, which  I  proposed  to  do,  we  know  it  within  and  with- 
out ;  in  its  interior  constitution,  and  in  its  twofold  relations 
with  society.  It  remains  for  us  to  deduce  from  what  we  have 
learried  by  way  of  inference,  by  way  of  conjecture,  its  gene- 
ral influence  upon  European  civilization.  This  is  almost  done 
to  our  hands.  The  simple  recital  of  the  facts  of  the  predomi- 
nant principles  of  the  Church,  both  reveals  and  explains  its 
influence :  the  results  have  in  a  manner  been  brought  before 
us  with  the  causes.  If,  however,  we  endeavor  to  sum  them 
up,  we  shall  be  led,  I  think,  to  two  general  conclusions 

The  first  is,  that  the  Church  has  exercised  a  vast  and  im 
portant  influence  upon  the  moral  and  intellectual  order  of  Eu 
rope  ;  upor  the  notions,  sentiments,  and  manners  of  society 
This  fact  n  evident ;  the  intellectual  and  moral  progress  of 
Europe  has  been  essentially  theological.  Look  at  its  history 
from  the  fifth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  and  you  will  find 
throughott  that  theology  has  possessed  and  directed  the  hu- 
man mind  ;  every  idea  is  impressed  with  theology ;    every 

"  The  •  Truce  of  God"  was  a  rei^ulation  prohibiting  all  private 
warfare  (t  duels  on  tlie  holydays,  from  Tliursday  evening  to  Sun- 
day evening  in  each  week,  also  during  llie  season  of  Advent  and 
Lent,  and  on  the  "octaves,"  or  eighth  day,  of  tl»e  great  festivals. 
This  rule  was  first  introduced  in  Aquitaine  in  1017;  tiien  in  France 
ind  Burgundy;  subsequently  into  Germany,  England,  and  the 
Netherlands.  During  the  eleventh  century  it  was  enjoined  by  spe- 
cial decrees  of  numerous  councils  of  the  Church.  Wiioever  en- 
giiged  in  private  quarrels  on  the  prohibited  days  was  excoinmuni- 
:uted.  The  Chorch  endeavored  by  tliis  regulation  to  restrict  an(i 
.mtigate  evils  which  it  could  not  entirely  rp()ress.  The  Truce  o^ 
Uud  was  also  made  oinding  in  regard  to  certain  places,  as  church- 
re,  convents,  ?iospilals;  also  certain  persons,  as  clergymen,  and  ic 
^•UL'ml  all  unarmed  and  defenceless  nersons. 


CIVILIZATION     [N    MODERN     EUllOPR.  137 

luestioii  that  lias  been  started,  whether  philosophical,  politi 
cal,  or  historical,  has  been  considered  in  a  religious  point  oi 
view.      So  powerful,  indeed,  has  been  the  authority  of  the 
(Church  in  matters  of  intellect,  that  even  the  mathematical  and 
physical  sciences  have  been  obliged  to  submit  to  its  doctrines. 
The  spirit  of  theology  has  been  as  it  were  the  blood   whict  \ 
has  circulated  in  the  veins  of  the  European  world  down  to  th»     1 
time  of  Bacon  md  Descartes.      Bacon  in  England,  and  Des- //| 
cartes  in  France,  were  the  first  who  carried  the  human  mind    I 
cut  of  the  pale  of  theology. 

We  shall  find  the  same  fact  hold  if  we  travel  through  the 
regions  of  literature  :  the  habits,  the  sentiments,  the  language 
of  theology  there  show  themselves  at  every  step. 

This  influence,  taken  altogether,  has  been  salutary.  It  not 
only  kept  up  and  ministered  to  the  intellectual  movement  in 
Europe,  but  the  system  of  doctrines  and  precepts,  by  whose 
authority  it  stamped  its  impress  upon  that  movement,  was  in- 
calculably superior  to  any  which  the  ancient  world  had  known. 

The  influence  of  the  Church,  moreover,  has  given  to  the 
development  of  the  human  mind,  in  our  modern  world,  aii  ex- 
tent and  variety  which  it  never  possessed  elsewhere.  In  the 
East,  intelligence  was  altogether  religious:  among  the  Greeks, 
it  was  almost  exclusively  human :  there  human  culture — hu- 
manity, properly  so  called,  its  nature  and  destiny — actually 
disappeared  ;  here  it  was  man  alone,  his  passions,  his  feel- 
ings, his  present  interests,  which  occupied  the  field.  In  our 
world  the  spirit  of  religion  mixes  itself  with  all  but  exclude* 
nothing.  Human  feelings,  human  interests,  occupy  a  con 
siderable  space  in  every  branch  of  our  literature  ;  yet  the  re 
ligious  character  of  man,  that  portion  of  his  being  which  con 
nects  him  with  another  world,  appears  at  every  turn  in  them 
•^11.  Could  modern  intelligence  assume  a  visible  shape  we 
should  recognise  at  once,  in  its  mixed  character,  the  finger  of 
man  and  the  finger  of  God.  Thus  the  two  great  sources  of 
human  development,  humanity  and  religion,  have  been  open 
at  the  same  time  and  flowed  in  plenteous  streams.  Not  with- 
slandirig  all  the  evil,  all  the  abuses,  which  may  have  crept 
into  the  Church — notwithstanding  all  the  acts  of  tyranny  of 
vN'hich  she  has  been  guilty,  we  must  still  acknowledge  her  in- 
tlLcnoe  upon  the  progress  and  culture  of  the  human  intellect 
,«  nave  been  beneficial ;  that  she  has  assisted  in  its  develop- 
ment rather  than  its  compression,  in  its  exiensioi  rather  thar 
ifp  confinement 


J38  GENERiL    HISTORY    OF 

The  case  is  widely  diiferent  wliea  we  look  at  the  Church 
in  a  political  point  of  view.  By  softening  the  rugged  tnan- 
oers  and  sentiments  of  the  people ;  by  raising  her  roicc 
against  a  great  number  of  practical  barbarisms,  and  doing 
what  she  couid  to  expel  them,  there  is  no  doubt  but  the  Church 
Ifvrgely  contributed  to  the  melioration  of  the  social  condition; 
but  witn  regard  to  politics,  prop-erly  so  called,  with  regard  U) 
tU  that  concerns  ;he  relations  between  the  governing  and  ttu 
governed — between  power  and  liberty — I  cannot  conceal  my 
ooinion,  that  its  influence  has  been  baneful.  In  this  respect 
the  Church  has  ahvays  showii  herself  as  the  interpreter  and 
defender  of  two  systems,  equally  vicious,  that  is,  of  theocracy, 
and  of  the  imperial  t\"ranny  of  the  Roman  empire — that  is  to 
say,  of  despotism,  both  religious  and  civil.  Examine  all  ii-s 
institutions,  all  its  laws  ;  peruse  its  canons,  lock  at  its  pro- 
cedure, and  you  will  everywhere  find  the  maxims  of  theocracy 
or  the  empire  to  predominate.  In  her  weakness,  the  Church 
sheltered  herself  under  the  absolute  power  of  the  Roman 
Emperors  ;  in  her  strength  she  laid  claim  to  it  herself,  vmdei 
the  name  of  spiritual  power.  We  must  not  here  coniine  our- 
selves to  a  few  particular  facts.  The  Chiirch  has  often,  no 
doub',  set  up  and  defended  the  rights  of  the  people  against  the 
bad  government  of  their  rulers ;  often,  indeed,  has  she  ap- 
proved and  excited  insurrection  ;  often  too  has  she  maintained 
ihe  rights  and  interests  of  the  people  in  the  presence  of  their 
sovereigns.  But  when  the  question  of  political  securities 
came  into  debate  between  power  and  libertj- ;  when  any  step 
was  taken  to  establish  a  system  of  permanent  institutions, 
which  might  efteciually  protect  liberty  from  the  invasions  of 
|X)wer  in  general ;  the  Church  always  ranged  herself  on  the 
side  of  despotism. 

This  should  not  astonish  us,  neither  should  we  be  too  ready 
to  attribute  it  to  any  j>anicular  failing  in  the  clergy,  or  to  any 
pardcular  rice  in  the  Church.  There  is  a  more  profound  and 
powerful  cause. 

'     What  is  the  object  of  religion  \    of  any  religkm,  tme  « 

/  fclse  :     It  is  to  govern  the  htiman  passions,  the  human  wilL 

;' /  All  religion  is  a  restraint,  »n  authority,  a  govermneiiU     It 

enmes  in  the  name  of  a  divine  law,  to  subdue,  to  mortiiy  hu- 

j      njan  nature.     It  is  then  to  human  liberty  thai  it  directly  op- 

I      poses  itself.     It  is  himian  liberty  that  resists  it,  and  thai  u 

I       wishes  to  o\ercome      This  is  the  grand  object  of  religUHi,  its 

ati^on,  'ts  hope. 


/ 


CIVItlZATU  N     IN     MODERN     EVROPR.  139 

Bat  while  it  is  with  human  liberty  that  all  religions  h'd.re 
U' contend,  while  they  aspire  to  reform  the  will  of  man.  they 
bave  no  means  by  which  they  can  act  upon  him — they  have 
DO  moral  jtower  over  h'm,  but  through  his  own  will,  his  liber- 
ty. When  they  make  use  of  exterior  means,  when  they  re- 
Boi:  to  force,  to  seduction — in  short,  make  us^^  of  means  op- 
posed to  the  free  consent  of  man,  they  treat  him  as  we  treat 
water,  wind,  or  any  power  entirely  physical :  they  fail  in  their 
object ;  they  attain  not  their  end  ;  they  do  not  reach,  they 
cannot  govern  the  will.  Before  religions  can  really  accom  ' 
plibh  their  task,  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  be  accepted 
by  the  free-will  of  man  :  it  is  necessar\-  that  man  should  sub- 
mit, but  it  must  L»e  willingly  and  freely,  and  that  he  still  pre 
serves  his  liberty  in  the  rr.idsl  of  this  submission.  It  is  in 
his  that  resides  the  double  problem  which  religions  are  called 
:ipon  to  resolve. 

They  have  too  oAen  mistaken  their  object.  They  have  re- 
|arded  liberty  as  an  obstacle,  and  not  as  a  means  ;  they  have 
orgotten  the  nature  vi  the  power  to  which  they  address  them-  i 
selves,  and  have  conducted  themselves  towards  the  human 
Boul  as  they  would  towards  a  material  force.  It  is  this  error 
that  has  led  them  to  ran^e  themselves  on  the  side  of  power, 
on  the  side  of  despotism,  against  human  liberty  ;  rogarding  it 
as  an  adversary,  they  have  endeavored  to  subjugate  rather  than 
to  protect  it.  Had  religions  but  fairly  considered  their  means 
of  operation,  had  they  not  suffered  themselves  to  be  drawn 
away  by  a  natural  but  deceitful  bias,  they  would  have  seen 
that  liberty  is  a  condition,  without  which  man  carmoi  be  moral- 
ly governed  ;  that  religion  neither  has  nor  ought  to  have  any 
means  of  influence  not  strictly  moral :  they  would  have  re- 
spected the  will  of  man  in  their  attempt  to  govern  it.  They 
have  too  often  forgotten  this,  and  the  issue  has  been  that  re- 
ligious power  and  liberty  have  sulTered  together. 

I  will  not  push  further  this  investigation  of  the  general  col 
sequences  that  have  followed  the  influence  of  the  Church  up- 
on European  civilization.  I  have  summed  them  up  in  thi.i 
ii'uble  result, — a  great  and  salutar}'  influence  upon  its  mora^ 
md  intellectual  condition  ;  an  influence  rather  hurtful  thau 
tcneficial  to  its  political  condition.  We  have  now  to  try  oui 
!ifc3'?rtions  by  facts,  to  verify  by  history  what  we  have  as  yei 
nrJy  deduced  from  the  nature  and  si'.uitiori  oJ  ecclesiastical 
3i>citly      Let  us  now  ?ee  what  was  th''  destiny  ol  the  Chris 


[40  GENERAL    HISTORV    OV 

rian  Church  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  ami  v/hethi  r 
the  principles  which  1  have  laid  down,  the  results  which  I 
have  endeavored  to  draw  from  them,  have  really  been  isu  :h  ae 
I  have  represented  them. 

Let  me  caution  you,  however,  against  supposing  that  I'liose 
principles,  diese  results,  appeared  all  at  once,  and  as  cAiailj 
as  they  are  here  set  forth  by  me.  We  are  apt  to  fall  into  tht. 
great  and  connnon  error,  in  looking  at  the  past  through  cen- 
turies  of  distance,  of  forgetting  moral  chronology ;  we  are 
apt  to  forget — extraordinary  forgetfulness  !  that  history  is  es- 
sentially successive.  Take  the  life  of  any  man — of  Oliver 
Cromwell,  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  of  Gustavus  Adolphus.  He 
enters  upon  his  career ;  he  pushes  forward  in  life,  and  rises  ; 
great  circumstances  act  upon  him  ;  he  acts  upon  great  cir- 
cumstances. He  arrives  at  the  end  of  all  things — and  then 
it  is  we  know  him.  But  it  is  in  his  whole  character  ;  it  is  as 
a  complete,  a  finished  piece  ;  such  in  a  manner  as  he  is  turn- 
ed out,  after  a  long  labor,  from  the  workshop  of  Providence. 
Now  at  his  outset  he  was  not  what  he  thus  became ;  he  was 
not  completed — not  finished  at  any  single  moment  of  his  life  ; 
he  was  formed  successively.  Men  are  formed  morally  in  the 
same  way  as  they  are  physically.  They  change  every  day. 
Their  existence  is  constantly  undergoing  some  modification 
The  Cromwell  of  1650  was  not  the  Cromwell  of  1640.  It  is 
true,  there  is  always  a  large  stock  of  individuality ;  the  same 
man  still  holds  on  ;  but  how  many  ideas,  how  many  senti- 
ments, how  many  inclinations  have  changed  in  him!  Wliat 
a  number  of  things  he  has  lost  and  acquired  !  Thus,  at  what- 
ever moment  of  his  life  we  may  look  at  a  man,  he  is  never 
Buch  as  we  see  him  when  his  course  is  finislied. 

This,  nevertheless,  is  an  error  into  which  a  great  numhe: 
/  :t{  historians  have  fallen.     When  they  have  acquired  a  com 
(    plete  idea  of  a  man,  have  settled  his  character,  they  see  him 
in  this  same  character  throughout  his   whole  career.     With 
them,  it  is  the  same  Cvomweli  who  enters  parliament  in  1628, 
and  who  dies  in  the  palace  of  White-Hall   thirty  years  after- 
wards.    Just  such  mistakes  as  these  we  are  very  apt  to  fall 
into  with  regard  to  ins-titutions  and  general  influences.     I  cau- 
lion  you  against  them.     I  have  laid  down  in  '.heir  complete 
form,  as  a  whole,  the  principles  of  the  Church,  and  the  conse 
^uences  which  may  be  deduced  from  them.   Be  assured,  how 
aver,  that  historically  this  picture  is  not  true.     All  it  repre 
seutt)  has  taken  place  disiointedjy,  sucrs^ssively ;  haa  beei 


CIVII.r/ATION    IN     MODERN     EUROPE.  141 

»cntlcrc(l  here  aiul  tlicre  ox'or  space  and  time.  Expect  not  tc\ 
find,  in  the  recital  of  events,  a  similar  completeness  or  whale,  \ 
rhe  same  pronijit  and  systematic  concatenation.  One  principle  j 
ivill  be  visible  here,  another  there  ;  all  will  be  incomplete,  I 
t\neqi)al,  dispersed  ;  we  must  come  to  modern  times,  to  th»'/ 
I  nd  of  its  career,  before  we  can  view  it  as  a  whole. 

I  ahall  nowlay  before  you  the  various  states  through  whicli 
'he  Church  passed  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century 
SVe  may  not  find,  perhaps,  the  complete  demonstration  of  the 
■tatements  which  I  have  made,  but  W6  shall  see  enough,  I  ap- 
prehend, to  convince  us  that  Jiey  are  founded  in  truth. 

The  first  state  in  which  we  see  the  Church  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury, is  as  the  Church  imperial — the  Church  of  the  Roman 
E-mpire.  Just  at  the  time  the  Empire  fell,  the  Church  believ- 
ed she  had  attained  the  summit  of  her  hopes  :*after  a  long 
struggle,  she  had  completely  vanquished  paganism.  Gratian, 
tlie  last  emperor  who  assumed  the  pagan  dignity  of  sove- 
reign pontiff,  died  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  century.  The 
Church  believed  herself  equally  victorious  in  her  struggle 
against  heretics,  particularly  against  Arianism,  the  principal 
heresy  of  the  time.  Theodosius,  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury, put  them  down  by  his  imperial  edicts  ;  and  had  the 
double  merit  of  subduing  the  Arian  heresy  and  abolishing  the 
worship  of  idols  throughout  the  Roman  world.  The  (^hurch, 
then,  was  in  possession  of  the  government,  and  had  ootained 
the  victory  over  her  two  greatest  enemies.  It  was  at  thip 
moment  that  the  Roman  Empire  failed  her,  and  she  stood  ii 
the  presence  of  new  pagans,  of  new  heretics — in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  barbarians — of  Goths,  of  Vandals,  of  Burgun- 
dians  and  Franks.'^  The  fall  was  immense.  You  may  easily 
imagine  that  an  adectionate  attachment  for  the  Empire  was 
tor  a  long  time  preserved  in  the  Romish  Church.  Hence  we 
B  ie  her  cherish  so  fondly  all  that  was  left  of  it — municipal 
|;i)vornment  and  absolute  power.     Hence,  when  she  had  sue 

•5  These  barbarians,  it  will  be  remembered,  followed  the  Arian 
heresy,  both  those  who  embraced  Christianity  before  the  invasion 
>i  the  Empire,  and  those  who  did  so  after  that  event.  The  Bur- 
ffundiRns,  converted  by  Arian  missionaries  in  433,  adopted  tht 
f/3'.liolif;  faith  about  517.  The  Franks,  following  the  example  of 
Clov/s.  embraced  the  orthodox  faith  in  497. 


142  GENERAL    IIISTOKV     Of 

ceedtd  in  converting  the  barbarians,  she  endeavored  to  re-e* 
lablish  the  Empire  ;  she  called  upon  the  barbarian  kings,  eht 
conjured  them  to  become  Roman  emperors,  to  assume  the 
privilege  of  Roman  emperors  ;  to  enter  into  the  same  rela 
lions  vvith  the  Cliurch  which  had  existed  between  her  and  the 
Roman  Empire.  This  was  the  great  object  for  which  the 
tiishops  of  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries  labored.  Such  *as 
ilve  general  state  of  the  Church. 

/  The  attempt  could  not  succeed — it  was  impossible  to  make- 
I  Roman  Empire,  to  mould  a  Roman  society  out  of  barbarians. 
[,ike  the  civil  world,  the  Church  herself  sunk  into  barbarism. 
This  was  her  second  state.  Comparing  the  writings  of  the 
monkish  ecclesiastical  chroniclers  of  tlie  eighth  century  with 
those  of  the  preceding  six,  the  difference  is  immense.  AH  re- 
mains of  Roman  civilization  had  disappeared,  even  its  very  lan- 
guage— all  became  buried  in  complete  barbarism.  On  one  side 
the  rude  barbarians,  entering  into  the  Church,  became  bishops 
and  priests  ;  on  the  other,  the  bishops,  adopting  the  barbarian 
life,  became,  without  quitting  their  bishopricks,  chiefs  of  b;ind.i 
of  marauders,  and  wandered  over  the  country,  pillaging  and  de- 

:  stroying  like  so  many  companies  of  Clovis.   Gregory  of  Tours 

I  gives  an  account  of  several  bishops  who  thus  passed  their 
lives,  and  among  others  Salone  and  Sagittarius. 

Two  important  facts  took  place  while  the  Church  continued 
in  this  state  of  barbarism. 

The  first  was  the  separation  of  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
'  powers.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  the  birth  of  this 
principle  at  this  epoch.  The  Church  would  have  restored 
the  absolute  power  of  the  Roman  Empire  that  she  might  par- 
take of  it,  but  she  could  not ;  she  therefore  sought  her  safety 
in  independence.  It  became  necessary  that  she  should  be 
able  in  all  parts  to  defend  herself  by  her  own  power ;  for  she 
was  threatened  in  every  quarter.  Eveiy  bishop,  every  priest, 
isaw  the  rude  chiefs  in  their  neighborhood  interfering  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Church,  that  they  might  procure  a  slice  of  its 
wealth,  its  territory,  its  power  ;  and  no  other  means  of  defence 
accmed  left  bat  to  say,  "The  spiritual  order  is   completely 

/  separated  from  the  temporal  ;  you  have  no  right  to  interfete 
1/  with  it."  This  principle  became,  at  every  point  of  attack,  tht 
;     Icfi^nsivo  armor  of  the  Church  against  barbarism. 


A  sec(  \id  Important  fact  which  took  place  at  this  same  pe 


/ 


CIVILIZAI'    ON     IN     MODERN     EUROPR.  143 

nod,  was  iho  establisnmenl  of  the  monastic  orders  in  the  w  esl. 
It  was   at  the   coininoncement  of  the    sixth    centniy  that  St. 
Benedict  published  the  rules  of  his  order  for  the  use  of  the 
.nonks  of  the  west,  then  few  in  number,  but   who  from  thifl 
ime  prodifiiously  increased.     The  monks  at  this  epoch  did 
not  yet  belong  to  the  clerical  body,  but  were  still  reoarded  aa 
%  part  of  ttio  laity.      Priests  and  even  bishops  were  sometimes 
nhoscn  from  among  them  ;  but  it  was  not  till  the  close  of  tho 
lifth  and  beginning  of  the  sixth  century  that  monks  in  general 
were  considered  as  belonging  to  the  clergy,  properly  so  called. 
Priests  and  bishops  now  entered  the  cloister,  thiidcing  by  so 
doing  they  advanced  a  stop  in  their  religious  life,  and  incieas- 
tjd  the  sanctity  of  their  oilicc.     The  ii\onastic  life  thus  all  at 
once  became   exceedingly  popular  throughout  Europe.     The 
monks  had  a  greater  power  over  the  imagination  of  the  bar- 
barians than  the  secular  clergy.     The  simple  bishop  and  priest 
had  in  some  measure  lost  their  hold  upon   the  minds  of  bar- 
barians, who    were    accustomed    to   see  them  every  day  ;  to 
maltreat,  perhaps  to  pillage  ttiem.     It  was  a  more  important    / 
matter  to  attack  a  monastery,  a  body  of  holy  men  congregated  / 
ia  a  holy  place.      Monasteries,  therefore,  became  during  this  f 
barbarous  period  an  asylum  for  the  Church,  as  the  Church  was   I 
for  the  laity.     Pious  men  here  took  refuge,  as  others  in  the  |/ 
East  had  done  before  in  the  Thebias,  in  order  to  escape  the/ 
worldly  life  and  corruption  of  Constantinople.'^  ^ 

'8  St  Anthony,  born  in  the  year  251,  is  said  to  have  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  the  monastic  orders  about  305,  by  giving  rules  to  the 
Christian  recluses  who  had  withdrawn  to  the  deserts  of  Thebias  in 
Upper  Egypt.  His  discipline  was  carried  by  some  of  his  disciples 
into  Syria.  Subsequently  St.  Basil  (born  326)  founded  a  convent 
in  Pontus.  The  first  community  of  monks  in  Gaul  was  established 
by  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  who  about  375  built  the  famous  convent 
of  Marmoutiers.    lie  had  previously  founded  one  at  Milan  in  Italy. 

The  discipline  of  the  Egyptian  monks  was  introduced  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  fifth  century  into  Provence,  by  St.  Honoratius  and 
8t.  Cassian ;  the  former  of  whom  established  a  monastery  at  Le- 
rins,  the  latter  at  Marseilles. 

There  were,   however,   no   regular   monastic   vows   or   public 
profession  till   the  sixth  century.     They  were  then  introduced  by 
5»t.  Benedict,  first  in  a  monastery  founded  by  him  at  Monte  Casiao 
aear   Naples,  in  529.     The  strict  rules  established  by  him  were  ^ 
."adopted  into  all  the  European  convents.     By  their  vows  the  monkj    \ 
were  obliged  to  poverty,  chastity,  and  obedience :  their  rules  ot 
hscipiine  required  them  to  devote  their  time  to  study,  atid  to  lab"".     , 
witb  their  hands.  ' 


144  GENERAL    HISTORV     OF 

These,  then,  are  the  two  most  important  facts  in  the  hittory 
of  the  j  Church,  during  the  period  of  barbarism.  First,  the 
separation  of  the  spiritual  and  temporal  powers  ;  and,  secondly, 
the  introduction  and  establishment  of  the  monastic  orders  in 
the  West. 

Towards  the  end  of  this  period  of  barbarism,  a  fresh  attempt 
M  as  made  to  raise  up  a  new  Roman  empire — I  allude  to  the 
lUeinpt  of  Charlemagne.  The  Church  and  the  civil  sovereign 
igiin  contracted  a  close  alliance.  The  holy  see  was  full  of 
docility  while  this  lasted,  and  greatly  increased  its  power 
The  attempt,  however,  again  failed.  The  empire  of  Charle- 
magne was  broken  up  ;  but  the  advantages  which  the  see  of 
Rome  derived  from  his  alliance  were  great  and  permanent. 
The  popes  hencefo.ward  were  decidedly  the  chiefs  of  tha 
Christian  world. 

TJpon  the  death  of  Charlemagne,  another  period  of  imsei 
lledness  and  confusion  followed.  The  Church,  together  with 
civil  society,  again  fell  into  a  chaos  ;  again  with  civil  society 
she  arose,  and  with  it  entered  into  the  frame  of  the  feudal 
system.  This  was  the  third  state  of  the  Church.  The  dis- 
solution of  the  empire  formed  by  Charlemagne,  was  followed 
oy  nearly  the  same  results  in  the  Church  as  in  civil  life  ;  all 
unity  disappeared,  all  became  local,  partial,  and  individual 
Now  began  a  struggle,  in  the  situation  of  the  clergy,  such  as 
had  scarcely  ever  before  been  seen  :  it  was  the  struggle  of 
the  feelings  and  interest  of  the  possessor  of  the  fief,  with  the 
feelings  and  interest  of  the  priest.  The  chiefs  of  the  clergy 
were  placed  in  this  double  situation  ;  the  spirit  of  the  priest 
and  of  the  temporal  baron  struggled  within  them  for  mastery. 
The  ecclesiastical  spirit  naturally  became  weakened  and  di 


Durir.g  the  dark  period  from  the  sixth  century  to  the  ninth,  thi> 
monks  rendered  areai  services  to  the  cause  of  religion,  letters,  and 
I'.ivilizaiion.  By  their  industrious  hands  waste  forests  and  barren 
jinds  were  converted  into  ricli  and  productive  gardens;  in  ilie  con- 
rents  were  preserved  all  the  remains  of  ancient  learning;  tiiere 
missionaries  were  educated. 

Reverence  for  these  institutions,  and  gratitude  for  the  beneGtJ. 
ihey  cunferred,  led  to  gifts  anoJ  endow^ments  on  (he  part  of  the 
^lous  laity,  until  at  length  tne  monasteries  became  as  notorious  foi 
riches  luKury,  and  corruption,  a&  they  were  at  first  for  simplicity 
devot.  <n,  and  i'ldustry. 


CIVILIZATION     m    MODERN     EUROPE.  146 

nded  by  this  process — it  was  no  longer  so  powerful,  so  uni 
tersal.  Individual  interest  began  to  pre  ?ail.  A  taste  for  in- 
dependence, the  habits  of  the  feudal  lite,  lOOsened  the  lies  of 
Me  hierarchy.  In  this  state  of  tilings,  the  Church  made  an 
Bttninpt  within  its  own  bosom  to  correct  the  efi'ccls  of  thih 
general  break-up.  It  endeavored  in  several  parts  of  its  obi- 
pire,  by  means  of  federation,  by  common  assemblies  and  de- 
liberations, to  organize  national  Churches.  It  is  during  this 
'Kiriod,  during  the  sway  of  the  feudal  system,  that  we  mof  t 
with  the  greatest  number  of  councils,  convocations,  and  eccle- 
siastical assemblies,  as  well  provincial  as  national.  In  F'rancfc 
especially,  this  endeavor  at  unity  appeared  to  be  followed  up 
with  tiuicli  spirit.  Ilincmar,  archbishop  of  Rhcims,  may  be 
considered  as  the  representative  of  this  idea.  He  labored  in- 
cessantly to  organize  the  French  Church  ;  he  soughi  out  and 
employed  every  means  of  correspondence  and  union  which 
he  tliought  likely  to  introduce  into  the  Feudal  Church  a  little 
more  unity.  We  find  him  on  one  side  maintaingthe  indepen- 
dence of  the  Church  with  respect  to  temporal  power,  on  the 
other  its  independence  with  respect  to  the  Roman  see;  it  was 
he  who,  learning  that  the  pope  wished  to  come  to  France,  and 
threatened  to  excommunicate  the  bishops,  said,  Si  excommu- 
nicaturits  vcnr.rit,  excommunicatus  abibit. 

But  the  attempt  thus  to  organize  a  feudal  Church  succeed- 
ed no  better  than  the  attempt  to  re-establish  the  imperial  one 
There  were  no  means  of  re-producing  any  degree  of  unity 
among  its  members  ;  it  tended  more  and  more  towards  disso- 
lution. Each  bishop,  each  prelate,  each  abbet,  isolated  him- 
self more  and  more  in  his  diocese  or  monastery.  Abuses  and 
disorders  increased  from  the  same  cause.  At  no  time  was  the 
crime  of  simony  carried  to  a  greater  extent — at  no  time  vero 
ecclesiastical  benefices  disposed  of  in  a  more  arbitrary  man- 
ner— never  were  the  morals  of  the  clergy  more  loose  and  dis- 
orderly. 

Both  the  people  and    he  better  portion  of  the  clergy  were 

fi  eatly  scandalized  at  this  sad  state  of  things ;  and  a  desire 
If  reform  in  the  Church  soon  began  to  show  itself — a  desire 
to  find  some  authority  round  which  it  might  rally  its  better 
principles,  and  which  might  impose  some  wholesome  restraints 
rn  the  others.  Several  bishops — Claude  of  Turin,  AgobarJ 
of  I-yons,  &c. — in  their  respective  diocesses  attempted  this, 
out  in  vain  ;  they  were  not  in  a  condition  to   accomplish   sr 


146  GENERAL    HISTOR f    OV 

ra8t  a  work  In  the  whole  Church  there  was  only  one  jk»wi:i 
that  could  succeed  in  this,  and  that  was  the  Roman  See ;  noi 
was  that  power  slow  .n  assuming  the  position  which  it  wished 
to  attain.  In  the  course  of  the  eleventh  century,  the  Church 
entered  upon  its  fourth  state — that  of  a  theocracy  supported 
by  monastic  institutions. 

The  per.son  who  raised  the  Holy  See  to  this  power,  so  fal 
as  It  can  be  considered  the  work  of  an  individual,  was  Gre- 
gory VII.'" 

Ii  has  been  tiie  custom  to  represent  this  great  pontiff  as  an 
enemy  to  all  improvement,  as  opposed  to  intellectual  develop- 
ment, to  the  progress  of  society ;  as  a  man  whose  desire  was 
to  keep  the  world  stationary  or  retrograding.  Nothing  is 
farther  from  the  truth.  Gregory,  like  Charlemagne  and  Petei 
the  Great,  was  ».  reformer  of  the  despotic  school.  The  part 
he  played  in  the  Church  was  very  similar  to  that  which  Char- 
lemagne and  Peter  the  Great,  the  one  in  France  and  the  othei 
in  Russia,  played  among  the  laity.  He  wished  to  reform  the 
Church  first,  and  next  civil  society  by  the  Church.  He  wished 
to  introduce  into  the  world  more  morality,  more  justice,  more 
order  and  regularity  ;  he  wished  to  do  nil  this  through  the 
Holy  See,  and  to  turn  all  to  his  own  profit. 

While  Gregory  was  endeavoring  to  bring  the  civil  world 
into  subjection  to  the  Church,  and  the  Cliurch  to  the  See  of 
Rome — not,  as  I  have  said  before,  to  keep  it  stationary,  or 
make  it  retrograde,  but  with  a  view  to  its  reform  and  improve 
n^ent — an  attempt  of  the  same  nature,  a  similar  movement, 
was  made  within  the  solitary  enclosures  of  the  monasteries. 
The  want  of  order,  of  discipline,  and  of  a  stricter  morality, 

>7  Gregory  VII.  (Hildebrand)  succeeded  Alexander  II.  in  the 
Papal  chair  1073.  He  virtually  governed  the  Church  during  the 
lime  of  his  predecessor,  and  was  indeed  the  real  author  of  the  de- 
cree of  Nicholas  II.,  1059,  by  which  the  power  of  nominating  ind 
confirming  the  pope  was  taken  from  the  German  emperors  and  vest- 
?d  iu  the  cardinals.  His  whole  life  was  devoted  to  aggrandizing  llu' 
(lowtr  of  the  Holy  See.  His  talents  were  great,  and  his  energy 
udomitable.  He  died  1085.  For  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  Pa- 
f,al  power,  see  Hallam's  Bliddle  Ages,  Chap.  VII.,  aud  Ranke's  Hi* 
tory  of  the  Popes. 

The  Pajial  power  was  at  its  height  from  the  time  of  Innocent 
III.,  1191,  to  that  of  Boniface  VIIL,  1294,  after  which  it  senaibh 
JHi'lined 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  147 

WM«  soAerely  felt  anJ  cried  out  for  with  a  zeal  that  would  no! 
be  said  nay.  About  this  time  Robert  De  Moleme  established 
his  severe  rule  at  Cileaux ;  about  the  same  time  flourished  St 
Norbert,  and  llie  reform  of  the  canons,  tlie  reform  of  Cluny 
and,  at  last,  tho  groat  reform  of  St.  Bernard.  A  general  for 
mentation  reigned  within  the  monasteries  :  the  old  monks  Jid 
•\ot.  like  this  ;  in  defvjnding  themselves,  they  called  these  re- 
forms an  attack  upon  their  liberty  ;  pleaded  the  necessity  of 
conforming  to  the  manners  of  the  times,  that  it  was  impossible 
vO  return  to  the  discipline  of  the  primitive  Church,  and  treat- 
ed all  these  reformers  as  madmen,  as  enthusiasts,  as  tyrants. 
Dip  into  tlie  history  of  Normandy,  by  Ordericu?  Vitalius,  and 
you  will  meet  with  these  complaints  at  almost  every  page. 

All  this  seemed  greatly  in  favor  of  the  Church,  of  its  unity, 
and  of  its  power.  While,  however,  the  popes  o^  Rome  sough* 
to  usurp  the  government  of  the  world,  while  the  monasteries 
enforced  a  better  code  of  morals  and  a  severer  form  of  dis- 
cipline, a  few  mighty,  though  solitary  individuals  protested  in 
favor  of  human  reason,  and  asserted  its  claim  to  be  heard,  its 
right  to  be  consulted,  in  the  formation  of  man's  opinions.  The 
greater  part  of  these  philosophers  forbore  to  attack  common- 
ly received  opinions — I  mean  religious  creeds  ;  all  they  claim- 
ed for  reason  was  the  right  to  be  heard — all  they  declared 
was,  that  she  had  the  right  to  try  these  truths  by  her  own  tests, 
and  that  it  was  not  enough  that  they  should  be  merely  affirm- 
ed by  authority.  John  Erigena,  or  John  Scotus,  as  he  is 
more  frequently  called,  Roscehn,  Abelard,  and  others,  became 
the  noble  interpreters  of  individual  reason,  when  it  now  be- 
gan to  claim  its  lawful  inheritance.  It  was  tlie  teaching  and 
writings  of  these  giants  of  their  days  that  first  put  in  motion 
that  desire  for  intellectual  liberty,  which  kept  pace  with  the 
reform  of  Gregory  VII.,  and  St.  Bernard.  If  we  examine  tho 
general  character  of  this  movement  of  mind,  we  shall  find 
that  it  sought  not  a  change  of  opinion,  that  it  did  not  array 
itself  against  the  received  system  of  faith  ;  but  that  it  simply 
idvocated  tlie  right  of  reason  to  work  for  itself — in  short,  the 
nght  of  free  inquiry. 

I'he  scholars  of  Abelard,  as  he  himself  tell  us,  in  his  in- 
troduction to  T/ieoIogy,  requested  him  to  give  them  "  some 
philosopliical  arguments,  such  as  were  fit  to  satisfy  their 
miiids  ;  begged  that  he  would  instruct  them,  not  merely  to  re 
peat  what  he  taught  them,  but  to  understand  it ;  for  no  one  car 
10 


148  GENERAL    HISTORT    OF 

believe  that  whi^h  he  does  not  comprelieiid,  and  iiis  absurd  it 
set  out  to  preacii  to  otliers  concerning  things  which  neilhei 
those  who  teach  nor  those  who  learn  can  understand.  What 
other  end  can  the  study  of  philosophy  have,  if  not  to  lead  ua 
to  a  knowledge  of  God,  to  which  all  studies  should  be  subor 
dinate  ?  For  what  purpose  is  the  reading  of  profane  authors 
and  of  books  which  treat  of  worldly  alhiirs,  jerniitted  to  be- 
lievers, if  not  to  enable  them  to  understand  tlie  truths  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  and  to  give  them  the  abilities  necessary  to 
defend  them  ?  It  is  above  all  things  desirul)le  for  this  pur- 
pose, that  we  should  strengthen  one  another  with  all  the  pow- 
ers of  reason ;  so  that  in  questions  so  dilhcult  and  complica- 
ted as  those  which  form  the  object  of  Christian  faith,  you  may 
be  able  to  hinder  the  subtilties  of  its  enemies  from  too  easily 
corrupting  its  purity." 

The  importance  of  this  hrst  attempt  after  liberty,  or  this  re 
birth  of  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry,  was  not  long  in  making  it- 
self felt.  Though  busied  with  its  own  reform,  the  Church 
soon  took  the  alarm,  and  at  once  declared  war  against  these 
new  reformers,  whose  methods  gave  it  more  reason  to  fear 
than  their  doctrines.  This  clamor  of  human  reason  was  the 
grand  circumstance  which  burst  forth  at  the  close  of  the 
eleventh  and  beginning  of  the  twelfth  centuries,  just  at  the 
time  when  the  Church  was  establishing  its  theocratic  and  mo- 
nastic form.  At  this  cpocli,  a  serious  struggle  for  the  lirst 
time  broke  out  between  the  clergy  and  the  advocates  of  free 
inquiry.  The  quarrels  of  Abelard  and  St.  Bernard,  the  coun- 
cils of  Soissons  and  Sens,  at  which  Abelard  was  condemned, 
were  nothing  more  than  the  expression  of  this  fact,  which 
holds  so  important  a  place  in  the  history  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion. It  was  the  principal  occurrence  which  afl'ected  the 
Church  in  the  twelfth  century ;  the  point  at  which  we  will, 
for  the  present,  take  leave  of  it. 

But  at  this  same  instant  another  power  was  put  in  motion, 
which,  though  altogether  of  a  difl'erent  character,  was  per- 
haps one  of  the  most  interesting  and  important  in  the  pro- 
(^ress  of  society  during  the  middle  ages — I  mean  the  iiistiiu- 
Son  of  free  cities  and  boroughs  ;  or  what  is  called  the  I'nfran- 
chisement  of  the  connnons.  IIow  strange  is  tlie  inconsisten- 
cy of  grossness  and  ignorance  !  If  it  had  been  told  to  these 
tarly  citizens  who  vindicated  their  liberties  with  such  enthu- 
siasm, that  there  were  certain  men  who  cried  out  for  the 
rights  of  human  Teason,  the  right  of  free  iiKjuirv,  nun  who-i! 


CIVILIZAFION     IN     MODERN      EUROI'K.  149 

ih<!  Cliurch  regarded  as  heretics,  they  would  have  stoned  or 
burned  them  on  the  spot.  Abclard  and  his  friends  more  than 
once  ran  the  risk  of  sulTering  this  kind  of  martyrdom.  On  the 
other  hand,  these  same  philosophers,  who  were  so  bold  in 
:heir  demands  for  the  privileges  of  reason,  spoke  of  the  en- 
franchisement of  the  commons  as  an  abominable  revolution 
calculiited  to  destroy  civil  society.  Between  the  movement 
of  pliilosophy  and  the  movement  of  the  commons — between 
political  liberty  and  the  liberty  of  the  human  mind — a  wai 
seemed  to  be  declared ;  and  it  has  required  ages  to  reconcile 
these  two  powers,  and  to  make  them  understand  that  theii 
interests  are  the  same.  In  the  twelfth  century  they  had  no- 
thing in  common,  as  we  shall  more  fully  see  in  the  next  lee 
luro,  which  will  be  devoted  to  the  format  «»nof  free  citina  und 
municipal  corporations 


LECTURE   YII 

RISE    or    FREE    CITIES. 

We  have  already,  in  our  previous  lectures,  broughl  ilv)Wii 
the  history  of  the  two  first  great  elements  of  modern  civili- 
zation, the  feudal  system  and  the  Church,  to  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. The  third  of  these  fundamental  elements — that  of  the 
commons,  or  free  corporate  cities — will  form  the  subject  of 
the  present,  and  I  propose  to  limit  it  to  Jie  SLme  period  as 
that  occupied  by  the  other  two. 


It  is  necessary,  however,  that  I  should  notice,  on  entering 
upon  this  subject,  a  din'ercnce  which  exists  between  corporate 
cities  and  the  feudal  system  and  the  Church.  The  two  latter 
although  they  increased  in  influence,  and  were  subject  to 
many  changes,  yet  show  thems^^lves  as  completed,  as  having 
put  on  a  definite  form,  between  the  fifth  and  the  twelfth  cen- 
turies— we  see  their  rise,  growth,  and  maturity.  Not  so 
the  free  cities.  It  is  not  till  towards  the  close  of  this  period 
— till  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries — that  corporate  cities 
make  any  figure  in  history.  Not  that  1  mean  to  assert  that 
their  previous  history  does  not  merit  attention  ;  not  that  there 
are  not  evident  traces  of  their  existence  before  this  period  ; 
all  1  would  observe  is,  that  they  did  not,  previously  to  tho 
eleventh  century,  perform  any  important  part  in  the  great  dra- 
ma of  the  world,  as  connected  with  modern  civilization 
Again,  with  regard  to  the  feudal  system  and  the  Church  ;  wo 
nave  seen  them,  between  the  fifth  century  and  the  Iwelft.h. 
act  with  power  upon  the  social  system  ;  we  hax'e  seen  tlui 
efiTects  they  produced  ;  by  regarding  them  as  two  great  prin- 
ciples, we  have  arrived,  by  way  of  induction,  by  way  of  con- 
jecture, at  certain  results  which  we  have  verified  by  referiing 
to  facts  themselves.  This,  however,  we  camiot  do  u'ith  re- 
gard to  corporati(»ns.  We  only  see  these  in  their  childhood 
J  can  scarcely  go  further  to-day  than  inquire  into  their  causes, 


(nVILIZATION    IN    MODKRN    EUROPE.  151 

their  origin  ;  and  the  few  observations  1  shall  make  respecting 
their  eflects — respecting  the  influence  of  corporate  cities  upon 
modern  civilization,  will  be  rather  a  foretelling  of  wliat  after- 
wards came  to  pass,  than  a  recounting  of  what  actually  took 
place.  I  cannot,  at  this  period,  call  in  the  testimony  of  ktiowu 
and  contemporary  events,  because  it  was  not  till  between  thf 
twelfth  and  fifteenth  centuries  that  corporations  attained  any 
degree  of  perfection  and  influence,  that  these  institutions  boH» 
any  fruit,  and  that  we  can  verify  our  assertions  by  history.  1 
mention  this  diflerence  of  situation,  in  order  to  forewarn  you 
if  that  wliich  you  may  find  incomplete  and  premature  i.i  the 
«ketch  I  am  about  to  give  you. 

Let  us  suppose  that  in  the  year  1789,  at  the  commencement 
of  the  terrible  regeneration  of  France,  a  burgess  of  the  twelfth 
cer\tury  had  risen  from  his  grave,  and  made  his  appearance 
among  us,  and  some  one  had  put  into  his  hands  (for  we  will 
suppose  he  could  read)  one  of  those  spirit-stirring  pamphlets 
which  caused  so  much  excitement,  for  instance,  that  of  M. 
Sieyes,  What  is  the  third  estate?  ("  Qu'est-ce  que  le  tiers 
etat?")  If,  in  looking  at  this,  he  had  met  the  following  pas- 
sage, which  forms  the  basis  of  the  pamphlet : — "  The  third 
estate  is  the  French  nation  without  the  nnbility  and  clergy  :" 
what,  let  me  ask,  would  be  the  impression  such  a  sentence 
would  make  on  this  burgess's  mind  ?  Is  it  probable  that  he 
would  understand  it  ?  No  :  he  would  not  be  able  to  compre- 
hend the  meaning  of  the  words,  "the  French  nation,"  because 
they  remind  him  of  nc  facts  or  ciicumstances  with  which  he 
would  be  acquainted,  but  represent  a  state  of  things  to  the 
existence  of  which  he  is  an  entire  stranger  ;  but  if  he  did  un- 
derstand the  phrase,  and  had  a  clear  apprehension  that  the 
absolute  sovereignty  was  lodged  in  the  third  estate,  it  is  be- 
yond a  question  that  he  would  characterize  such  a  proposition 
as  almost  absurd  and  impious,  so  utterly  at  variance  would  it 
1)6  with  his  feelings  and  his  ideas  of  things — so  contradic- 
tory to  the  experience  and  observation  of  his  whole  life. 

If  we  now  suppose  the  astonished  burgess  to  be  introduced 
in'o  any  one  of  the  free  cities  of  France  which  had  existed 
ir  his  time — say  Rheims,  or  Beauvais,  or  Laon,  or  Noyon 
— we  shall  see  him  still  more  aiitonished  and  puzzled  :  he  en- 
.CTS  the  town,  he  sees  no  towers,  ramparts,  militia,  or  any 
>ther  kind  of  defence  ;  everything  exposed,  everything  an  easy 
«l)oi[  to  the  first  depredator,  the  town  ready  to  fall  into  the 
huiids  of  the  first  assailant.     The  burgess  is  alarmed  at  ihf 


152  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

jisecurity  of  this  Tree  city,  which  he  finds  ii  so  defenceless 
and  unprotected  a  condition.  He  then  proceeds  into  the  heart 
of  the  town  ;  he  inquires  bow  things  are  going  on,  what  ia 
the  nature  of  its  government,  and  the  character  of  its  inhabi- 
tants. He  learns  that  there  is  an  authority  not  resident  witli  ii 
its  walls,  which  imposes  whatever  taxes  it  pleases  to  levy  up(  i: 
theAi  without  their  consent ;  which  requires  tliem  to  keep  up 
a  militia,  and  to  serve  in  the  army  without  their  inclination 
being  consulted.  They  talk  to  him  about  the  magistrates 
about  the  mayor  and  aldermen,  and  he  is  obliged  to  hear  thai 
the  burgesses  have  nothing  to  do  with  their  nomination.  He 
learns  that  the  municipal  government  is  not  conducted  by  the 
burgesses,  but  that  a  servant  of  the  king,  a  steward  living  at 
a  distance,  has  the  sole  management  of  their  aflairs.  In  ad- 
dition to  this,  he  is  informed  that  they  are  prohibited  from  as- 
sembling together  to  take  into  consideration  matters  innne- 
diately  concerning  themselves,  that  the  church  bells  have 
ceased  to  announce  public  meetings  for  such  purposes.  The 
burgess  of  the  twelfth  century  is  struck  dumb  with  confusion 
— a  moment  since  he  was  amazed  at  the  greatness,  the  im- 
portance, the  vast  superiority  which  the  "  tiers  etat"  so  vaunt- 
ingly  arrogated  to  itself;  but  now,  upon  examination,  he  finds 
them  deprived  of  all  civic  rights,  and  in  a  state  of  thraldom 
and  degradation  far  more  intolerable  than  he  had  ever  before 
witnessed.  He  passes  suddenly  from  one  extreme  to  the 
other,  from  the  spectacle  of  a  corporation  exercising  sovereign 
power  to  a  corporation  without  any  power  at  all :  how  is  it 
possible  that  he  should  understand  this,  or  be  able  to  recon- 
cile it  ?  his  head  must  be  turned,  and  his  faculties  lost  in  won- 
der and  confusion. 

Now,  let  us  burgesses  of  the  nineteenth  century  imagine, 
in  our  turn,  that  we  are  transported  back  into  the  twelfth.  A 
twofold  appearance,  but  exactly  reversed,  presents  itself  to  us 
iu  a  precisely  similar  manner.  If  we  regard  the  allaiis  ol 
the  public  in  general — the  state,  the  government,  the  country, 
the  nation  at  large,  we  shall  neither  see  nor  hear  anything  el 
burgesses ;  they  were  mere  ciphers — of  no  importafjce  oi 
consideration  whatever.  Not  only  so,  but  if  we  would  know 
in  what  estimation  they  held  themselves  as  a  body,  whal 
H-cight,  what  influence  they  attached  to  themselves  with  r«i- 
-bpect  to  their  relations  towards  the  government  of  France  as  i 
oalioii  we  shall  receive  a  reply  to  our  inquiry  in  language  esf 


CIVIMZA  riON     IN     MODK.RN     EUROPE.  153 

pvcssivo  of  deep  Inimility  and  timidity  ;  while  wc  sliall  find 
their  masters,  the  lords,  from  wlioin  they  subsequent  y  wrested 
their  franchises,  treating  them,  at  least  as  far  as  words  po 
witli  a  pride  and  scorn  truly  amazing;  yet  these  indignities 
ilo  not  appear,  iii  the  slightest  degree,  to  provoke  or  astonish 
ilieir  submissive  vassals. 

But  let  us  enter  one  of  these  free  cities,  and  see  what  o 
going  on  within  it.  Here  things  take  quite  another  turn  :  wo 
find  ourselves  in  a  fortified  town,  defended  by  armed  burgess- 
es. These  burgesses  fix  their  own  taxes,  elect  their  own 
magistrates,  have  their  own  courts  of  judicature,  their  own 
pul)lic  assemblies  for  deliberating  upon  public  measures,  froa» 
which  none  are  excluded.  Thoy  make  war  at  their  own  ex 
perisc,  even  against  their  suzerain — maintain  their  own  militia. 
In  short,  they  govern  themselves,  they  are  sovereigns. 

Here  we  have  a  similar  contrast  to  that  which  made  Fra:icc, 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  so  perplexing  to  the  burgess  of  ll  e 
Iwelftli  ;  the  scenes  only  are  changed.  In  the  present  day 
the  burgesses,  in  a  national  point  of  view,  are  everything — 
municipalities  nothing;  formerly  corporations  were  every 
thing,  while  the  burgesses,  as  respects  the  nation,  were  no 
thing.  From  this  it  will  appear  evident  that  many  things, 
many  extraordinary  events,  and  even  many  revolutions,  muM 
have  happened  between  the  twelfth  and  the  fifteenth  centu- 
ries, in  order  to  bring  about  so  great  a  change  as  that  which 
lias  taken  place  in  the  social  condition  of  this  class  of  so- 
ciety. But  however  vast  this  change,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
but  that  the  commons,  the  third  estate  of  1789,  politically 
speaking,  are  the  descendants,  the  heirs  of  the  free  towns  ol 
the  twelfth  century.  And  the  present  hauehty,  ambitious 
French  nation,  which  aspires  so  high,  which  proclaims  so 
pompously  its  sovereignty,  and  preteiuls  not  only  to  have  re- 
generated and  to  govern  itself,  but  to  regenerate  and  rule  the 
whole  world,  is  indisputably  descended  from  those  very  free 
towns  which  revolted  in  the  twelfth  century — with  ?reat  spirij 
and  courage  it  must  be  allowed,  but  with  no  nobler  obje':* 
ihan  that  of  escaping  to  some  remote  corner  of  the  land  froLi 
tlie  vexatious  tyranny  of  a  few  nobles. 

It  would  be  in  voin  to  expect  that  tlie  condition  of  the  free 
towns  in  the  twelfth  century  will  reveal  the  causes  of  a  meta 
'norphosis  such  as  this,  which  rc.<:ulted  from  a  series  of  eventi 


164  GEXERAL     HISTORY    OF 

liat  took  jilace  between  the  twelfth  and  eighteenth  centuries 
t  is  in  these  events  tliat  we  shall  discover  t!ie  causes  of  this 
change  as  we  go  on.  Nevertheless,  the  origin  of  the  "  tieri 
itat"  has  played  a  striking  part  in  its  history ;  and  though  wc 
may  not  be  able  therein  to  trace  out  the  whole  secret  of  its 
destiny,  we  shall,  at  least,  there  meet  with  the  seeds  of  it; 
ihat  which  it  was  at  first,  again  occurs  in  that  which  it  is  be- 
come, and  this  to  a  much  greater  extent  than  might  be  pre- 
Btimed  from  appearances.  A  sketch,  however  imperfect,  of  the 
state  of  the  free  cities  in  the  twelfth  century,  will,  I  think, 
convince  you  of  this  fact. 


In  order  to  understand  the  condition  of  the  free  cities  at 
that  time  properly,  it  is  necessary  to  consider  them  in  two 
points  of  view.  There  are  two  great  questions  to  be  deter- 
mined :  first^  that  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  commons,  or 
cities — that  is  to  say,  how  this  revolution  was  brought  about, 
what  were  its  causes,  what  alteration  it  effected  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  burgesses,  what  in  that  of  society  in  general,  and 
in  that  of  all  the  other  orders  of  the  state.  The  second  ques- 
tion relates  to  the  government  of  the  free  cities,  the  internal 
ccnaition  of  the  enfranchised  towns,  with  reference  to  the 
b'jrgesses  residing  witliin  them,  the  principles,  forms  and 
customs  that  prevailed  among  them. 

From  these  two  sources — namely,  the  change  introduced 
into  the  social  position  of  the  burgesses,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
from  the  internal  government,  by  their  municipal  economy,  on 
the  other,  has  flowed  all  their  influence  upon  modern  civiliza- 
tion. All  the  circumstances  that  can  be  traced  to  their  in- 
fluence, may  be  referred  to  one  of  those  two  causes.  Aa 
Boon,  then,  as  we  thoroughly  understand,  and  can  satisfac- 
torily account  for,  the  enfranchisement  of  the  free  cities  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  formation  of  their  government  on  the 
other,  we  shall  be  in  possession  of  the  two  keys  to  their  hig' 
tory.  In  conclusion,  I  shall  say  a  {ew  words  on  the  great  di- 
versity of  conditions  in  the  free  cities  of  Europe.  The  fact* 
which  1  am  about  to  lay  before  you  are  not  to  be  applied  in- 
discriminately to  all  the  free  cities  of  the  twelfth  century — to 
those  of  Italy.  Spain,  England,  and  France  alike;  many  of 
ihera  undoubtedly  were  nearly  the  same  in  them  all,  but  the 
points  ol  differer.ce  are  great  and  important.  I  shall  point 
them  out  to  j'our  notice  us  I  proceed.      We  shall  meet  will 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     KUKUt-C  155 

llicm  again  at  a  more  advanced  stage  of  our  civiliziilion,  and 
can  then  examine  them  more  closely. 

Tn  acquainting  ourselves  with  the  history  of  the  enfran- 
chisement of  the  free  towns,  we  must  remember  what  was  the 
Btate  of  those  towns  between  the  fifth  and  eleventh  centurion 
—from  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire  to  the  time  when  muni- 
i;i[)al  revolution  conunenced.  Here,  I  repeat,  the  diflerencos 
je  striking:  the  condition  of  the  towns  varied  amazingly  in 
llie  (lifrerent  countries  of  Europe  ;  still  there  are  some  farts 
jchich  may  be  regarded  as  nearly  common  to  them  all,  and  jt 
is  to  these  that  I  shall  confine  my  observations.  When  I 
have  gone  through  these,  I  shall  say  a  few  words  more  par- 
ticularly respecting  the  free  towns  of  France,  and  especially 
those  of  the  north,  beyond  the  Rhone  and  the  Loire  ;  these 
will  form  prominent  figures  in  the  sketch  I  am  about  to  make. 

After  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  between  the  fifth  arid 
tenth  centuries,  the  towns  were  neither  in  a  state  of  servitude 
nor  freedom.  We  here  again  run  the  same  risk  of  error  in 
the  employment  of  words,  that  1  spoke  to  you  of  in  a  pre- 
vious lecture  in  describing  the  character  of  men  and  events. 
When  a  society  has  lasted  a  considerable  time,  and  its  lan- 
guage also,  its  words  acquire  a  complete,  a  detertninate,  a  pre- 
cise, a  sort  of  legal  official  signification.  Time  has  introduced 
into  the  signification  of  every  term  a  thousand  ideas,  which 
are  awakened  within  us  every  time  we  hear  it  pronounced, 
but  which,  as  they  do  not  all  bear  the  same  date,  are  not  all 
suitable  at  the  same  time.  The  terms  "  servitude  axxd  freedom" 
for  example,  recall  to  our  minds  ideas  far  more  precise  and 
definite  than  the  facts  of  the  eighth,  ninth,  or  tenth  centuries 
to  which  they  relate.  If  we  say  that  the  towns  in  the  eighth 
century  were  in  a  state  of  freedom,  we  say  by  far  too  much : 
Vie  attach  now  to  the  word  "freedom''^  a  signification  which 
does  not  represent  the  fact  of  the  eighth  century.  We  sh:)ll 
fall  into  the  same  error,  if  we  say  that  the  towns  were  in  a 
state  of  servitude  ;  for  this  term  implies  a  state  of  things  very 
dilforen;  from  the  circumstances  of  the  municipal  towns  of 
those  days.  I  say  again,  then,  that  the  towns  were  neithei 
in  a  state  of  freedom  nor  servitude  :  they  suffered  all  the  evih 
U»  wliich  vveakness  is  liable  :  they  were  a  prey  to  the  con- 
imial  depredations,  rapacity,  and  violence  of  the  strong :  yet, 
turtwithstanding  these  horrid  disorders,  their  impoverished  anJ 


156  «ENKRAL     HISTORY    OF 

diminishing  population,  tVe  towns  had,  and  still  maintained,  a 
ceriair»  degree  of  importance  :  in  most  of  thenj  there  was  a 
clergyman,  a  bishop  wlio  exercised  great  authority,  wlio  j)03- 
sussed  great  .influence  over  the  people,  served  as  a  tie  be- 
tween them  and  their  conquerors,  thus  maintaining  the  city  in 
a  sort  of  independence,  by  throwing  over  it  the  proteclinj' 
shield  of  religion.  Besides  this,  there  were  still  left  in  llu 
{owns  some  valuable  fragments  of  Roman  institutions.  \Vc 
are  indebted  to  the  careful  researches  of  MM.  de  Savigny, 
Hullmann,  Mdle.  de  Lezardieic,  &c.,  for  having  furnished  uq 
with  many  circumstances  of  this  nature.  We  hear  often,  al 
this  period,  of  the  convocation  of  the  senate,  of  the  curiaj,  of 
public  assemblies,  of  municipal  magistrates.  Matters  of  po- 
lice,  wills,  donations,  and  a  multitude  of  civil  transactions, 
were  concluded  in  the  curioi  by  the  magistrates,  in  the  same 
way  that  they  had  previously  been  done  under  the  Iloman 
municipal  goverrmient. 

These  remains  of  urban  activity  and  freedom  wore  gradual- 
ly disappearing,  it  is  true,  from  day  to  day  Barbarism  and 
disorder,  evils  always  increasing,  accelerated  depopulation. 
The  establishment  of  the  lords  of  the  country  in  the  provin- 
cei,  and  (he  rising  preponderance  of  agricultural  life,  became 
another  cause  of  the  decline  of  the  cities  The  bishops 
th'^mselvos,  after  they  had  incorporated  themselves  into  the 
feudal  frame,  attached  much  less  importance  to  their  munici 
pai  life.  Finally,  upon  the  triumph  of  the  feudal  system,  the 
toA'ns,  without  falling  into  the  slavery  of  the  agriculturists, 
Wiire  entirely  subjected  to  the  control  of  a  lord,  were  includ- 
ed in  some  fief,  and  lost,  by  this  title,  somewhat  of  the  inde- 
pendence which  still  remained  to  them,  and  which,  indeed, 
they  had  continued  to  possess,  oven  in  the  most  barbarous 
limes  —  even  in  the  first  centuries  of  invasion.  So  that  from 
iha  fifth  century  up  to  the  time  of  the  complete  organization 
of  the  feudal  system,  the  stale  of  the  towns  was  continually 
jolting  worse. 

When  once,  however,  the  feudal  system  was  fairly  esJaL 
lihhed,  when  every  man  had  taken  his  place,  and  becam'j 
fiied  as  it  were  to  ^he  soil,  when  the  wandering  life  had  en- 
tirely ceased,  the  towns  again  assumed  some  importance — a 
now  activity  began  to  display  itself  within  them.  This  ii  na 
iuiprising.      Human  activity,  as  we  all  know,  is  like  the  fer 


CIVILtZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  157 

cility  of  the  soil, — when  the  disturbing  process  is  over,  it  itv 
appears  and  makes  all  to  grow  and  blossom  ;  wherever  there 
appears  the  least  glinmiering  of  peace  and  order  the  hopes  ol 
man  are  excited,  and  with  his  hopes  his  industry.  This  iy 
what  took  place  in  the  cities.  No  sooner  was  society  a  little 
settled  under  the  feudal  system,  than  the  proj)rietors  of  fiefs 
began  to  feel  new  wants,  and  to  acquire  a  certain  degree  of 
taste  for  iinprovemcnt  and  melioration  ;  this  gave  rise  to  some 
littlo  connnerce  and  industry  in  the  towns  of  their  domains; 
wealth  and  population  increased  witliin  them, — slowly  forcer- 
fain,  but  still  they  increased.  Among  other  circt'mstances 
which  aided  in  bringmg  this  about,  tliere  is  one  which,  in  my 
opinion,  has  not  been  sufliciently  noticed, — I  mean  the  asy- 
lum, the  protection  which  the  churches  aflbrded  to  fugitives. 
Before  tlie  free  towns  were  constituted,  before  they  were  in  a 
condition  by  their  power,  their  fortifications,  to  offer  an  asylum 
to  tlio  desolate  population  of  the  country,  when  there  was  no 
place  of  safety  for  them  but  the  church,  this  circumstance 
alone  was  sufficient  to  draw  into  the  cities  many  unfortunate 
persons  and  fugitives.  These  sought  refuge  either  in  the 
church  itself  or  within  its  precincts ;  it  was  not  merely  the 
lower  orders,  such  as  serfs,  villains,  and  so  on,  that  sought 
this  protection,  but  frequently  men  of  considerable  rank  and 
wealth,  who  might  chance  to  be  proscribed.  The  chronicles 
of  the  times  are  full  of  examples  of  this  kind.  We  find  men 
.ately  powerful,  upon  being  attacked  by  some  more  powerful 
neighbor,  or  by  the  king  himself,  abandoning  their  dwellings, 
and  carrying  away  all  the  property  they  could  rake  together, 
entering  into  some  city,  and  placing  themselves  under  the  pro- 
jection of  a  church  :  they  became  citizens.  Refugees  of  this 
sort  had,  in  my  opinion,  a  considerable  influence  upon  the  pro- 
gress of  the  cities  ;  they  introduced  into  them,  besides  their 
wealth,  elements  of  a  population  superior  to  the  great  mass 
of  their  inhabitants.  We  know,  moreover,  that  when  once  ai 
assemblage  somewhat  considerable  is  formed  in  any  place 
that  other  persons  naturally  flock  to  it ;  perhaps  from  finding 
It  a  place  of  greater  security,  or  perhaps  from  that  sociable 
disposition  of  our  nature  which  never  abandons  us.-" 

"Upon  the  establishment  of  the  feudal  system,  "every  town, 
except  within  the  royal  domains,  was  subject  to   some  lord.     Id 
episcopal   cities,  the  bishop  possessed  a  considerable   authority 
and  in  n^any  there  was  a  class  of  resident  nobility.    It  is  probabh 


158  GENERAL    HISTORY    Of 

By  the  concurrence  of  all  these  causes,  the  cities  rega.ned 
a  small  portion  of  power  as  soon  as  tlie  feudal  sysleni  be- 
came somewhat  settled.  IJut  tlie  security  of  the  citizens  was 
not.  restored  to  an  equal  extent.  The  roving,  wandering  life- 
had,  it  is  true,  ir  a  great  measure  ceased,  but  to  the  conqucr- 
on,  to  the  new  f  roprietors  of  the  soil,  this  roving  life  was  one 
great  means  of  gratifying  their  passions.  When  they  desiied 
to  pillage,  they  made  an  excursion,  they  went  afar  to  seek  a 
belter  fortune,  aru)ther  domain.  When  they  became  mor« 
ituled,  when  they  considered  it  necessary  to  renoi'nce  theii 
predatory  exneditions,  the  same  passions,  the  same  gross  de- 
sires, still  remained  in  full  force.  But  the  weight  of  these 
now  fell  upon  those  whoni  they  found  ready  at  hand,  uj)on  the 
powerful  of  the  world,  upon  the  cities.  Instead  of  going  afai 
to  pillage,  they  pillaged  what  was  near.  The  exactions  of 
the  proprietors  of  fiefs  iqion  the  burgesses  were  redoubled  at 
the  end  of  the  tenth  century.  Wbenever  the  lord  of  the  do- 
main, by  wliich  a  city  was  girt,  fell  a  desire  to  increase  his 
wealtli,  he  gratified  his  avarice  at  the  expense  of  the  citizens, 
It  was  more  particularly  at  this  period  tliat  the  citizens  com- 
plained of  the  total  want  of  commercial  security.  Merchants, 
on  returning  from  their  trading  rouuds,  could  not,  with  safety, 
return  to  their  city.  Every  avenue  was  taken  possession  of 
by  the  lord  of  the  domain  and  his  vassals.  The  moment  in 
which  industry  commenced  its  career,  was  precisely  that  in 
which  security  was  most  wanting.  Notbing  is  more  galling 
to  an  active  spirit,  than  to  be  deprived  of  the  long-anticipated 
pleasure  of  enjoying  the  fruits  of  his  industry.  When  robbed 
of  this,  he  is  far  more  irritated  and  vexed  than  when  made  to 
Buffer  in  a  state  of  being  fixed  and  monotonous,  than  when 
that  which  is  lorn  from  him  is  not  the  fruit  of  his  own  ac- 
tivity, has  not  excited  in  hiui  all  the  joys  of  hope.  There  is 
in  the  progressive  movement,  which  elevates  a  man  of  a  popu- 
lation tovk'ards  a  new  fortune,  a  spirit  of  resistance  against 


llftt  the  proportion  of  freemen  was  always  greater  than  in  the 
fcuntry  ;  some  sort  of  retail  trade,  and  even  of  manufacture,  must 
have  existed  in  the  rudest  of  the  middle  ages,  and  conseijucntly 
acme  little  capital  was  required  for  liieir  exercise.  Nor  was  it  so 
easy  to  oppress  a  collected  body,  as  the  scattered  and  dispirited 
jullivators  of  the  soil.  Probably,  therefore,  tiie  condition  of  iht 
towns  was  at  all  times  by  far  the  more  tlerable  servitude." — Iful 
am,  ]^''iddle  Ages,  Cr.ap.  ii.  pt.  2 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  159 

jiiquity  anJ  violence  much  ni(»re  energetic  than  in  any  othci 
situation. 

Such,  then,  was  the  state  of  cities  during  the  course  of  the 
enth  century.  They  possessed  more  strength,  more  import- 
ai  CO,  more  wealth,  more  interests  to  defend.  At  the  same 
'ime,  it  became  more  necessary  than  ever  to  defend  them,  foi 
hese  interests,  their  wealth  and  tiieir  strength,  became  ob- 
joc.s  of  (losiro  to  the  nobles.  With  tlio  moans  of  resistance, 
the  danger  and  didiculty  increased  also.  Ihjsidos,  the  feudal 
system  gave  to  all  connected  with  it  a  perpetual  examj^le  of 
resistance  ;  the  idea  of  an  organized  energetic  government, 
capable  of  keeping  society  in  order  and  regul?rity  by  its  inter- 
vention, had  never  presented  itself  to  the  spirits  of  that  period. 
On  the  contrary,  there  was  a  perpetual  recurrence  of  indivi- 
dual will,  refusing  to  submit  to  authority.  Such  was  the  con- 
duct of  the  major  part  of  the  holders  of  fiefs  towards  their 
suzerains,  of  the  small  proprietors  of  land  to  the  greater ;  so 
tliat  at  the  very  time  when  the  cities  were  oppressed  and  tor- 
mented, at  the  moment  when  they  had  new  and  greater  inter- 
ests to  sustain,  they  had  before  their  eyes  a  contiimal  lesson 
of  insurrection.  'J'he  feudal  system  rendered  this  service  to 
mankind — it  has  constantly  exhibited  individual  will,  display- 
ing itself  in  all  its  power  and  energy.  The  lesson  prospered  • 
in  spite  of  their  weakness,  in  spite  of  the  prodigious  inequality 
which  existed  between  them  and  the  great  proprietors,  their 
lords,  the  cities  everywhere  broke  out  into  rebellion  against 
ihem 

It  is  difficult  to  fix  a  precise  date  to  this  great  event — this 
general  insurrection  of  the  cities.  The  commencement  of 
t)ie;r  enfranchisement  is  usually  placed  at  the  beginning  of 
the  eleventh  century.  But  in  all  great  events,  how  many  un- 
known and  disastrous  efforts  must  have  been  made,  before  the 
successful  one !  Providence,  upon  all  occasions,  in  order  to 
«ccomj)lish  its  designs,  is  prodigal  of  courage,  virtues,  sacri- 
fices— finally,  of  man  ;  and  it  is  only  after  a  vast  number  of 
unknown  attemj^s  apparently  lost,  after  a  host  of  noble  heari.n 
bave  fallen  into  despair — convinced  that  their  cause  was  losi 
—  that  it  triumphs.  Such,  no  doubt,  was  the  case  in  the 
struggle  of  the  free  cities.  Doubtless  in  tlie  eighth,  ninth, 
md  tenth  centuries  there  were  many  attempts  at  resistance 
.nany  eflbrts  made  for  freedom : — many  attempts  to  escaf< 


t60 


GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 


irom  bondage,  wh.cli  not  only  were  unsuccessful,  but  tlm  r^ 
meinbrance  of  which,  from  their  ill  success,  has  remained 
without  glory.  Still  we  may  rest  assured  that  these  attempts 
had  a  vast  influence  upon  succeeding  events:  they  kept  alive 
and  maintained  the  spirit  of  liberty — they  prepared  the  grcil 
insuirection  of  the  eleventh  century. 

I  say  insurrection,  and  I  say  it  advisedly.  The  enfranchise- 
Cient  of  the  towns  or  communities  in  the  eleventh  century 
was  the  fruit  oi'  a  real  insurrection,  of  a  real  war — a  war  dc' 
clared  by  the  population  of  the  cities  against  their  lords.  Tha 
first  fa  .it  which  we  always  meet  with  in  annals  of  this  nature, 
is  the  rising  of  the  burgesses,  who  seize  whatever  arms  they 
can  lay  their  hands  on  ; — it  is  the  expulsion  of  the  people  of 
the  lord,  who  come  for  the  purpose  of  levying  contributions, 
some  extortion  ;  it  is  an  enterprise  against  the  neighboring 
castle  ; — sucli  is  always  the  character  of  the  war.  If  the  in- 
surrection fails,  what  docs  the  conqueror  instantly  do  1  Ho 
orders  the  destruction  of  the  fortifications  erected  by  the 
citizens,  not  oidy  around  their  city,  but  also  around  each  dwell 
ing.  We  see  that  at  the  very  moment  of  confederation,  aftei 
having  promised  to  act  in  common,  after  having  taken,  in  com 
mon,  the  corporation  oath,  the  first  act  of  each  citizen  was  to 
put  his  own  house  in  a  state  of  resistance.  Some  towns,  the 
names  of  which  are  now  almost  forgotten,  the  little  comnm- 
nity  of  Vezelai,  in  Nevers,  for  example — sustained  againsi 
their  lord  a  long  and  obstinate  struggle.  At  length  victory  de 
clared  for  the  Abbot  of  Vezelai ;  upoi.  the  spot  he  ordered 
the  demolition  of  the  fortifications  of  ihe  houses  of  the  citi- 
zens ;  and  the  names  of  many  of  the  heroes,  whose  fortified 
houses  were  then  destroyed,  are  still  preserved. 

Let  us  enter  the  interior  of  these  habitations  of  our  ances- 
tors ;  let  us  examine  the  form  of  their  construction,  and  tlie 
mode  of  life  which  this  reveals  ;  all  is  devoted  to  war,  every 
thing  is  impressed  with  its  character. 

'I'ho  construction  of  the  house  of  a  citizen  of  the  twelfth 
century,  so  far,  at  least,  as  we  can  now  obtain  an  idea  of  it, 
A^as  something  of  this  kind :  it  consisted  usually  of  three 
stories,  one  room  in  each  that  on  the  ground  floor  served  aa 
a  gcneriil  eating  room  for  the  family  ;  the  first  story  was  much 
elevated  for  the  sake  of  security,  and  this  is  the  most  remark- 
able circumstance  in  the  construction.  The  room  in  this 
btory  was  the  habitation  of  the  master  of  the  house  and  hi£ 
Kk'ifo.     The  house  was,  \n  general,  flanked  wi/h  an  anirulai 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN     EIROFE.  Id 

n'ver,  iisi.ally  square:  another  symptom  of  war;  another 
iieans  of  defence.  The  second  story  consisted  again  of  a 
single  room  ;  its  use  is  not  known,  hut  it  prohably  served  foi 
ilie  cliildren  and  domestics  AI)ove  tliis  in  most  houses,  wan 
1  small  philform,  evidently  intended  as  an  ol)servatory  o» 
watch-tower.  Every  feature  of  the  buiUling  bore  the  appear- 
'ince  of  war  Tliis  was  the  decided  characteristic,  the  true 
name  of  tne  movement,  which  wrought  out  the  freedoir.  of  the 
f(ti'?s. 

After  a  war  has  continued  a  certain  time,  whatever. may  be 
the  belligerent  parties,  it  naturally  leads  to  a  peace.  The 
tieaiies  of  peace  between  the  cities  and  their  adversaries 
were  so  many  charters.  These  charters  of  the  cities  were 
so  many  positive  treaties  of  peace  between  the  burgesses  and 
their  lords. 

The  insurrection  was  general.  When  I  say  general,  I  do 
noi  mean  that  there  was  any  concerted  plan,  that  there  was 
any  coalition  between  all  the  burgesses  of  a  country  ;  nothing 
like  it  took  place.  Hut  the  situation  of  all  the  towns  being 
nearly  the  same,  they  all  were  liable  to  the  same  danger  ;  a 
prey  to  the  same  disasters.  Having  acquired  similar  means 
of  resistance  and  defence,  they  made  use  of  those  means  at 
nearly  the  same  time.  It  may  be  possible,  also,  that  the  force 
of  example  did  something  ;  that  the  success  of  one  or  two 
communities  was  contagious.  Sometimes  the  charters  appear 
to  have  been  drawn  up  from  the  same  model ;  for  instance, 
tliat  (if  Noyon  served  as  a  pattern  for  tliose  of  Beauvais,  St, 
Quentin,  and  others  ;  I  doubt,  however,  whether  example  had 
80  great  an  influence  as  is  generally  conjectured.  Communi- 
cation between  dilTerent  provinces  was  difficult  and  of  rare 
occurrence  ;  the  intelligence  conveyed  and  received  by  hear- 
Gay  and  general  report  was  vague  and  uncertain  ;  and  there  is 
itiuch  reason  for  believing  that  the  insurrection  was  rather 
the  result  of  a  similarity  of  situation  and  of  a  general  spon 
taneous  movement.  When  I  say  general,  I  wish  to  be  under 
stood  simply  as  saying  that  insurrections  took  place  every- 
where ;  they  did  not,  I  repeat,  spring  from  any  unanimoxw 
ccncerted  movement :  all  was  particular,  local ;  each  comniu 
nily  rebelled  on  it^  own  account,  against  its  owir  lord,  uncoa- 
Qoctea  with  any  t  tner  place. 

The  vicissitudes  of  the  struggle  were  great      Not  only  dii) 


162  GENERAI     HISTOnV     OV 

success  change  from  one  side  to  the  other,  but  even  aftei 
peace  uas  in  apfearance  concnuled,  after  the  charter  had  heeo 
Bolemnly  sworn  to  by  both  parties,  they  violated  and  eiudeo 
its  articles  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  Kings  acted  a  pronnrienl 
part  in  the  ahernations  of  these  struggles.  I  shall  speak  of 
these  more  in  detail  when  I  come  to'  royalty  itself.  Tot, 
much  has  probably  been  said  of  the  effects  of  royal  influence 
upon  the  struggles  of  the  people  for  freedom.  These  f  (feet* 
have  been  oAen  contested,  sometimes  exaggerated,  and  .n  my 
jpinion,  sometimes  greatly  underrated.  I  shall  here  confino 
inyself  to  the  assertion  that  royalty  was  often  called  upon  to 
interfere  in  these  contests,  sometimes  by  the  cities,  sometimes 
by  their  lords ;  and  that  it  played  very  different  parts  ;  acting 
now  upon  one  principle,  and  soon  after  upon  another ;  that  it 
was  ever  changing  its  intentions,  its  designs,  and  its  conduct; 
but  that,  taking  it  altogether,  it  did  much,  and  produced  a  groat 
er  portion  of  good  than  of  evil. 

In  spite  of  all  these  vicissitudes,  notwithstanding  the  per- 
petual violation  of  charters  in  the  twelfth  century — the  free- 
dom of  the  cities  was  consummated.  Europe,  and  parlicidav- 
ly  France,  which,  during  a  whole  century,  had  abounded  in 
insurrections,  now  aboutided  in  charters ;  cities  rejoiced  in 
them  with  more  or  less  security,  but  still  they  rejoiced ;  tlio 
event  succeeded,  and  the  right  was  acknowledged. 


Let  us  now  endeavor  to  ascertain  the  more  immediate  re- 
sults of  this  great  fact,  and  what  changes  it  produced  in  the 
situation  of  the  burgesses  as  regarded  society. 

And,  at  first,  as  regards  the  relations  of  the  burgesses  with 
the  general  govermnent  of  the  country,  or  with  what  we  now 
call  the  state,  it  effected  nol.hing  ;  they  took  no  part  in  thia 
more  than  before  ;  all  remained  local,  enclosed  witliin  tlie 
imits  of  the  fief. 

One  circumstance,  however,  renders  this  assertion  not 
etrictly  true:  a,  connexion  now  began  to  be  formed  betweeu 
tho  cities  and  the  king.  At  one  time  the  people  called  upon 
the  king  for  support  and  protection,  or  solicited  him  to  gua- 
ranty the  charter  which  had  been  promised  or  sworn  to.  Al 
another  the  barons  invoked  the  julicial  interference  of  tht 
king  between  them  and  the  burgesses.  At  the  niques*  of  oiu 
tii  other  of  the  two  parties,  from  a  multitude  of  various  causca 


CIVIMZATION     IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  16.1 

v,yaUy  \v.is  called  upon  to  interfere  in  the  quarrel,  whence  re- 
lullcJ  a  froquciil  and  close  connexion  between  the  citizens 
\nd  the  king.  In  consequence  of  this  connexion  the  cities 
pccame  a  part  of  the  state,  they  began  to  have  relations  with 
(ho  general  government 

Ahhough  all  still  remained  ocal,  yet  a  new  general  class 
of  society  became  formed  by  the  enfranchisement  of  the  :;om- 
nons.  No  coalition  of  the  burgf^sses  of  dilTeront  cities  \n\d 
t  ikcn  place  ;  as  yet  they  had  as  a  class  no  public  or  goncrni 
existence.  Hut  the  country  was  covered  with  men  engaged 
in  similar  pursuits,  possessing  the  same  views  and  interests 
the  same  manners  and  customs  ;  between  whom  there  could 
not  fail  to  be  gradually  formed  a  certain  tie,  from  which  origi- 
nated the  general  class  of  burgesses.  This  formation  of  a 
great  social  class  was  the  necessary  result  of  the  local  enfran- 
chisement of  the  burgesses.  It  must  not,  however,  be  suppos- 
ed that  the  class  of  which  we  are  speaking  was  then  what  it 
has  since  become.  Not  only  is  its  situation  greatly  changed, 
but  its  elements  are  totally  difTerent.  In  the  twelfth  century, 
this  class  was  almost  entirely  composed  of  merchants  or  small 
traders,  and  little  landed  or  house  proprietors  who  had  taken 
uj)  their  residence  in  the  city.  Three  centuries  afterwards 
there  were  added  to  this  class  lawyers,  physicians,  men  of  let- 
ters, and  the  local  magistrates.  The  class  of  burgesses  was 
formed  gradually  and  of  very  difterent  elements  :  history 
gives  us  no  accurate  account  of  its  progress,  nor  of  its  diver- 
sity. When  the  body  of  citizens  is  spoken  of,  it  is  erroneous- 
ly conjectured  to  have  been,  at  all  times,  composed  of  the 
same  elements.  Absurd  supposition  !  It  is,  perhaps,  in  the 
diversity  of  its  composition  at  difTerent  periods  of  history  that 
we  should  seek  to  discover  the  secret  of  its  destiny  ;  so  long 
as  it  was  destitute  of  magistrates  and  of  men  of  letters,  so 
long  it  remained  totally  unlike  what  it  became  in  the  sixteenth 
century ;  as  regards  the  state,  it  neither  possessed  the  same 
character  nor  the  same  importance.  In  order  to  form  a  just 
idea  of  the  changes  in  the  rank  and  influence  of  this  portion 
af  society  we  must  take  a  view  of  the  n  mv  professions,  the 
afcW  ir.oral  situations,  of  the  new  intellectual  state  whicli  gra- 
lually  arose  within  it.  In  the  twelfth  century,  I  must  repeat, 
ho  body  of  citizens  consisted  only  of  small  merch  mts  oi 
traders,  who,  after  having  finished  their  purchases  and  sales 
;etirod  to  their  houses  in  the  city  or  town ;  and  of  little  n^o 
11 


164  GENERAL     HISTORV    OP 

prietors  of  houses  or  lands  whc  had  there  taken  up  their  resi- 
dence. Such  was  the  European  class  of  citizens,  *-i  its  pri. 
niary  elements 

The  third  great  result  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  citici 
was  the  struggle  of  classes  ;  a  struggle  which  constitutes  th{ 
very  fact  of  modern  history,  and  of  which  it  is  full. 

Modern  Europe,  indeed,  is  born  of  this  struggle  botweer. 
the  different  classes  of  society.  I  have  already  shown  that  iu 
other  places  this  struggle  has  been  productive  of  very  difl'er- 
enl  consequences  ;  in  Asia,  for  example,  one  particular  class 
has  completely  triumphed,  and  the  system  of  cables  has  suc- 
ceeded to  that  of  classes,  and  society  has  there  fallen  inio  a 
state  of  immobility.  Nothing  of  this  kind,  thank  God  !  ha.« 
laken  place  in  Europe.  One  of  the  cl^^-ses  has  not  conquer- 
ed, has  not  brought  the  others  into  subjection;  no  class  has 
been  able  to  overcome,  to  subjugate  the  others ;  the  struggle, 
instead  of  rendering  society  stationary,  has  been  a  principal 
cause  of  its  progress ;  the  relations  of  the  different  classes 
with  one  another  ;  the  necessity  of  combating  and  of  yielding 
by  turns  ;  the  variety  of  interests,  passions,  and  excitements  ; 
the  desire  to  conquer  without  the  power  to  do  so :  from  all 
this  has  probably  sprung  the  most  energetic,  the  most  produc- 
tive principle  of  development  in  European  civilization.  This 
struggle  of  the  classes  has  been  constant ;  enmity  has  grown 
up  b(!tween  them;  the  infinite  diversity  of  situation,  of  inter- 
ests, and  of  manners,  has  produced  a  strong  moral  hostility  ; 
vet  they  have  progressively  approached,  assimilated,  and  un- 
derstood each  other  ;  every  country  of  Europe  has  seen  arise 
and  develop  itself  within  it  a  certain  public  mind,  a  certain 
community  of  interests,  of  ideas,  of  sentiments,  which  have 
triumphed  over  this  diversity  and  war.  In  France,  for  example 
in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  the  moral  and  so- 
cial separation  of  classes  was  still  very  profound,  yet  there 
can  be  no  doubt  but  that  their  fusion,  even  then,  was  far  ad 
vanctd ;  that  even  then  there  was  a  real  French  nation,  no' 
con.siating  of  any  class  exclusively,  but  of  a  commixture  of  th": 
whole ;  all  animated  with  the  same  feeling,  actuated  by  on^j 
common  social  principle,  firmly  knit  together  by  the  bond  of 
nationality. 

Thus,  from  the  bosom  of  variety,  enmity,  and  discord,  has 
iflHued  thai  Ua  ional  unity,  now  become  so  conspicuous  is 
irvxlern   Europe  ;  that  nationality  whose  tend(!ncv  is  to  d<i 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     EnROFE.  165 

ffln^)  and  purify  itself  inoro  atiJ  more,  and  every  day  to  in- 
ere:i3c  its  splendor. 

Such  are  the  great,  the  important,  the  conspicuous  socia 
cflects  of  the  revolution  which  now  occiij)ics  our  attention 
Let,  us  now  endcavo'  to  sliow  what  were  its  moral  efTects  , 
f»-h3t  changes  it  produced  in  the  minds  of  the  citizens  them- 
le^Tes,  what  they  became  in  consequence,  and  what  they 
should  morally  become,  in  their  new  situation. 

When  we  take  into  our  corisideratii.  n  the  connexion  of  the 
citizens  with  the  state  in  general,  with  the  government  of  the 
state,  and  with  the  interests  of  the  country,  as  that  connexion 
existed  not  only  in  the  twelfth  century,  but  also  in  after  ages, 
there  is  one  circumstance  which  must  strike  us  cost  forcibly  : 
I  mean  the  extraordinary  mental  timidity  of  the  citizens  ; 
their  humility  ;  the  excessive  modesty  of  their  pretensions  to 
a  rifiht  of  interference  in  the  government  of  their  country  ; 
ai\d  the  little  matter  that,  in  this  respect,  contented  them. 
Nothing  was  to  be  seen  in  them  which  discovered  that  genuine 
political  ((uding  which  aspires  to  the  possession  of  inlhience. 
and  to  the  power  of  reforming  and  governing;  nothing  at- 
tests in  them  either  energy  of  mind,  or  loftiness  of  ambition  ; 
one  feels  ready  to  exclaim.  Poor,  prudent,  simple-hearted 
citizens ! 

There  are  noi,  properly,  more  than  two  sources  whence, 
in  the  political  world,  can  flow  loftiness  of  ambition  and  ener- 
gy of  mind.  There  must  be  either  the  feeling  of  possessing 
rx  great  importance,  a  great  power  over  the  destiny  of  others, 
and  this  over  a  large  sphere ;  or  there  must  be  in  one's  self 
a  powerful  feeling  of  personal  independence,  the  assurance  of 
one's  own  liberty,  the  consciousness  of  having  a  destiny  with 
which  no  will  can  intermeddle  beyond  that  in  one's  own 
bosom.  To  one  or  other  of  these  two  conditions  seem  to  be 
attached  energy  of  mind,  the  loftiness  of  ambition,  the  desire 
to  act  in  a  large  sphere,  and  to  obtain  corresponding  resulte 

Neither  of  these  conditions  is  to  be  found  in  the  situation 
(if  the  burgesses  of  the  middle  ages.  These  were,  as  we 
have  just  seen,  only  important  to  themselves  ;  except  within 
t!in  walls  of  their  own  city,  their  influence  amounted  to  but 
little ;  as  regarded  the  state,  to  almost  nothing.  Nor  could 
liey  be  possessed  of  any  great  feeling  of  personal  indepen- 
Oeiice  :  their  having  conquered — their  having  obtained  a  char 
ter   did  but  little  in  the  way  of  promoting  this  noble  penti 


»60  GENERAL    HlSTORy    OF 

merit.  The  burgess  of  a  city,  comparing  himself  with  tlu 
Utile  baron  who  dwelt  near  him,  and  who  had  just  been  van 
:jni8hed  by  liini,  would  still  be  sensible  of  his  own  extreme 
inferiority  ,  he  was  ignorant  of  that  proud  sentiment  of  indr 
pendence  which  animated  the  proprietor  of  a  fief;  the  shnre 
of  freedom  which  he  possessed  was  not  derived  from  himself 
done,  but  from  his  association  with  others — from  the  difficult 
ind  precarious  succor  which  they  afforded.  Hence  that  rc» 
tiring  disposition,  that  timidity  of  mind,  that  trembling  sb>- 
cess,  that  humility  of  speech,  (tliough  perhaps  coupled  with 
firmness  of  purpose,)  which  is  so  deeply  stamped  on  tlie  char- 
acter of  the  burgesses,  not  oidy  of  the  twelfth  century,  but 
even  of  their  most  remote  descendants.  They  had  no  taste 
for  great  enterprises  ;  if  chance  pushed  them  into  such,  they 
became  vexed  and  embarrassed ;  any  resp.  nsibility  was  a 
burden  to  them  ;  they  felt  themselves  out  of  their  sphere,  and 
endeavored  to  return  into  it ;  they  treated  upon  easy  terms. 
Thus,  in  running  over  the  history  of  Europe,  and  especially 
of  France,  we  may  occasionally  find  municipal  communities 
esteemed,  consulted,  perhaps  respected,  but  rarely  feared  ; 
they  seldom  impressed  their  adversaries  with  the  notion  that 
they  were  a  great  and  formidable  power,  a  power  truly  politi- 
cal. There  is  nothing  to  be  astonished  at  in  the  weakness  of 
the  modern  burgess  ;  the  great  cause  of  it  may  be  traced  to 
his  origin,  in  those  circumstances  of  his  enfranchisement 
which  I  have  just  placed  before  you.  The  loftiness  of  ainbi 
tion,  independent  of  social  conditions,  breadth  and  boldness 
of  political  views,  the  desire  to  be  employed  in  public  aflairs. 
the  full  consciousness  of  the  greatness  of  man,  considered  aa 
such,  and  of  the  power  that  belongs  to  him,  if  he  be  capable 
of  exercising  it ;  it  is  ihese  sentiments,  these  dispositions, 
which,  of  entirely  modern  growth  in  Europe,  are  the  offspring 
of  modem  civilization,  and  of  that  glorious  and  powerful  gen- 
erality which  characterizes  it,  and  which  will  never  fail  to  se- 
cure to  the  public  an  influence,  a  weight  in  the  government  of 
the  country,  that  were  constantly  wanting,  and  deservedly 
wanting,  to  the  burgesses  oui  ancestors 

As  a  set-off  to  this,  in  the  contests  which  they  had  to  su'i- 
"^n  respecting  their  local  interests — in  this  narrow  field,  the),' 
acquired  and  displayed  a  degree  of  energy,  devotedness,  per- 
jevorance,  and  puiience,  which  has  never  been  surpasaod 
Pbe  didicul'.y  of  the   enterprise   was  so  groat,  they  had    tc 


CIVILIZATION    \N    MODKRN     EUROPE.  167 

ilruggle  against  such  perils,  that  a  display  of  ccuragi'  fJmoH 
f'jyoiid  example  became  necessary.  Our  notions  of  the  bur 
gess  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  and  of  liis  life 
ire  very  erroneous.  The  picture  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  has 
lirawn  in  Qucntin  Durward  of  the  burgomaster  of  Liege,  fat, 
inactive,  without  experience,  without  daring,  and  caring  foi 
notliing  I)ut  passing  liis  life  in  ease  and  enjoyment,  is  oidy  fit- 
ted for  the  stage  ;  the  real  burgess  of  tliat  day  had  a  coat  of 
niail  continuallj  on  his  back,  a  pike  constanlly  in  his  hand  ; 
his  life  was  nearly  as  stormy,  as  warlike,  as  rigid  as  ihat  of 
t!ie  nobles  with  whom  he  contended.  It  was  in  these  every- 
day perils,  in  combating  the  varied  dangers  of  practical  life, 
hat  lie  acquired  that  bold  and  masculine  character,  that  de- 
cermined  exertion,  which  have  become  more  rare  in  the  softer 
activity  of  modern  times. 

None,  however,  of  these  social  and  moral  efTects  of  the  en- 
franchisement of  corporations  became  fully  developed  in  the 
tw(dfth  century  ;  it  is  oidy  in  the  course  of  the  two  following 
centuries  that  they  showed  themselves  so  as  to  be  clearly  dis- 
cerned. It  is  nevcrtlieless  certain  that  the  seeds  of  these 
effects  existed  in  the  primary  situation  of  the  commons,  in  the 
iiiodc!  of  their  enfranchisement,  and  in  the  position  which  the 
burgesses  from  that  time  took  in  society  ;  I  think,  tlierefore, 
thai  1  liave  done  right  in  bringing  these  circumstances  before 
you  to-day. 

Let  us  now  penetrate  into  the  interior  of  one  of  those  cor- 
porate cities  of  the  twelfth  century,  that  we  may  see  how  it 
was  governed,  that  we  may  now  see  wliat  principles  and  what 
fads  prevailed  in  the  relations  of  tlie  burgesses  with  one  an 
other.  It  must  be  remembered,  that  in  speaking  of  the  mu- 
nicipal .system  bequeathed  by  the  Roman  empire  to  the  mo- 
dern world,  I  took  occasion  to  say,  that  the  Koman  world 
was  a. great  coalition  of  municipalities,  which  had  previously 
been  as  sovereign  and  independent  as  Rome  itself.  Each  o{ 
those  cities  had  formerly  been  in  the  same  condition  as  Ro.ne 
»  'ittle  free  republic,  making  peace  and  war,  and  governing 
Itself  by  its  own  will.  As  fast  as  these  became  incorporated 
into  the  Roman  world,  those  rights  which  cons'.iliite  sove- 
reignty— the  righ  of  v/ar  and  peace,  of  legislation,  taxation, 
&e.  —were  transferred  from  each  city  to  the  central  govisrn- 
ment  at  Rome.  There  remained  then  but  one  municipal 
liovereigniy.     Rome  reigned   over  a  vast  number  of  mjniei 


168  GENERAL    HISTOBV    OF 

palitics,  iv'hich  and  nothing  left  beyond  a  civic  existence 
The  municipal  system  became  essentially  changed  :  it  was  no 
longer  a  political  government,  but  simply  a  mode  of  adminis- 
tration, 'lliis  was  the  grand  revolution  which  was  consum- 
mated under  the  Roman  empire.  The  municipal  system  be- 
came a  mode  of  administration  ;  it  was  reduced  to  the  gcvern- 
nient  of  local  affairs,  to  the  civic  interests  of  the  city.  This 
is  the  state  in  which  the  Roman  empire,  at  its  fall,  left  the 
cities  and  their  institutions.  During  the  chaos  of  barbarism, 
notions  and  facts  of  all  sorts  became  embroiled  and  confused  ; 
the  various  attributes  of  sovereignty  and  administration  were 
confounded.  Distinctions  of  this  nature  were  no  longer  re- 
garded. Affairs  were  suffered  to  run  on  in  the  course  dictated 
by  necessity.  The  municipalities  became  sovereigns  or  ad- 
ministrators in  the  various  places,  as  need  might  require 
Where  cities  rebelled,  they  re-assumed  the  sovereignty,  foi 
the  sake  of  security,  not  out  of  respect  for  any  political  theory 
nor  from  any  feeling  of  their  dignity,  but  that  they  might  have 
the  nieans  of  contending  with  the  nobles,  whose  yoke  they 
had  thrown  oil';  that  they  might  take  upon  themselves  the 
right  to  call  out  the  militia,  to  tax  themselves  to  support  the 
war,  to  name  their  own  chiefs  and  magistrates  ;  in  a  word,  to 
govern  themselvfis.  The  internal  government  of  the  city  was 
their  means  of  defence,  of  security.  Thus,  sovereignty  again 
returned  to  the  municipal  system,  which  had  been  deprived  of 
it  by  the  conquests  of  Rome.  City  corporations  again  be 
came  sovereigns.  This  is  the  political  characteristic  of  their 
enfranchisement. 

I  do  not,  however,  mean  to  assert,  that  this  sovereignty 
was  complete.  Some  trace  of  an  exterior  sovereignty  always 
may  be  found  ;  sometimes  it  was  the  baron  who  retained  the 
right  to  send  a  magistrate  into  the  city,  with  whom  the  muni- 
cipal magistrates  acted  as  assessors  ;  perhaps  he  had  the 
right  to  collect  certain  revenues  ;  in  some  cases  a  fixed  tri- 
bute was  assured  to  him.  Sometimes  the  exterior  sovereignt) 
of  the  community  was  in  the  hands  of  the  king. 

The  cities  themselves,  in  their  turn,  entered  into  the  feu 
dal  system  ;  they  had  vassals,  and  became  suzerains  ;  and  by 
this  title  post^essed  that  portion  of  sovereignty  which  was  in 
herent  in  the  suzerainty.  A  great  confusion  arose  between 
the  rights  which  they  held  from  their  feudal  position,  and  tlioso 
which  they  had  acquired  by  their  insurrection  ;  and  by  ihia 
double  title  they  held  the  sovereignty 


CIVIMZATION     IN     MODERN     EUROPE  169 

Let  US  see,  as  far  as  the  very  scanty  sources  left  us  will 
allow,  liow  the  internal  government  of  the  cities,  at  least  in 
ihe  more  early  times,  was  managed.  The  entire  body  of  the 
inlinhilants  formed  the  cominimal  assembly  ;  all  tliose  who 
hid  taken  the  communal  oath— and  all  who  dwell  within  the 
wnlls  were  obliged  to  do  so — were  summoned,  by  the  tolling 
af  the  boll,  to  the  general  assembly.  In  this  were  named  the 
.nr.gistrales.  The  number  chosen,  and  the  power  and  pro- 
(^jcdiiigs  of  the  magistrates,  differed  very  considerably.  Af- 
liT  ciioosiiig  tho  m;igistrat(!S,  tho  asflombliefl  disHolvcMl  •  and 
the  magi.slratcs  governed  almost  alone,  sufficiently  arbitrarily, 
being  imdei  no  further  responsibility  than  the  new  elections, 
or,  perhaps  popular  outbreaks,  which  were,  at  this  time,  the 
great  guarantee  for  good  government. 

You  wil;  observe  ihat  the  internal  oiganization  of  the  mu- 
nicipal towns  is  reduced  to  two  very  simple  elements,  the  gen- 
eral assembly  of  the  inhabitants,  and  a  government  invested 
with  almost  arbitrary  power,  under  the  responsibility  of  insur- 
rections,— general  outbreaks.  It  was  impossible,  especially 
while  such  maimers  prevailed,  to  establish  anything  like  a 
regular  government,  with  proper  guarantees  of  order  and  du- 
ration. The  greater  part  of  the  population  of  these  cities 
were  ignorant,  brutal,  and  savage  to  a  degree  which  rendered 
them  exceedingly  difficult  to  govern.  At  the  end  of  a  veiy 
short  period,  there  was  but  little  more  security  within  these 
communities  than  there  had  been,  previously,  in  the  relations 
of  the  burgesses  within  the  baron.  There  soon,  however, 
became  formed  a  burgess  aristocracy.  The  causes  of  this 
are  easily  understood.  The  notions  of  that  day,  coupled  with 
certain  social  relations,  led  to  the  establishment  of  trading 
companies  legally  constituted.  A  system  of  privileges  be- 
came introduced  into  the  interior  of  the  cities,  and,  in  the  end 
a  great  inequality.  There  soon  grew  up  in  all  of  them  a  cer- 
tain number  of  considerable,  opulent  burgesses,  and  a  popula- 
tion, more  or  less  numerous,  of  workmen,  who,  notwithstand 
ing  their  inferiority,  had  no  small  influence  in  the  affairs  of 
the  community.  The  free  cities  thus  became  divided  into  an 
ajiper  class  of  burgesses,  and  a  population  subject  to  all  the 
;rror^,  all  the  vices  of  a  mob.  The  superior  citizens  thus 
found  themselves  pressed  between  two  great  difficulties  •  first, 
:li'j  arduous  one  of  governing  this  inferior  turbulent  popula 
lion    and  secondly,  that  of  m  'ihstanding  the  continual  attempts 


170  GENERAL    HISTORY     OF 

of  ihe  ancient  master  of  the  borough,  who  sought  to  regain 
his  former  power.  Such  was  the  situation  of  their  aflairs,  noi 
niily  m  France,  but  in  Europe,  down  to  the  sixteenth  century 
'J'liis,  perhaps,  is  '.he  cause  which  prevented  these  conunuiii 
fifs  from  taking,  in  several  countries  of  Europe,  and  especiai- 
\y  in  France,  that  high  political  station  whicli  seemed  proper- 
3  to  belong  to  them.  Two  sj)irits  were  unceasingly  at  worii 
within  them:  among  the  inferior  population,  a  blind,  licen» 
tious,  furious  spirit  of  democracy;  among  the  superior  bur- 
gf sses,  a  spirit  of  timidity,  of  caution,  and  an  excessive  do- 
eire  to  accommodate  all  dilferences,  whether  with  the  kin£{,  or 
with  Us  ancient  proprietors,  so  as  to  preserve  peace  and  ordei 
ii\  the  bosom  of  the  community.  Neither  of  these  spirits  could 
raise  the  cities  to  a  high  rank  in  the  state. 

Al.  tliese  efl'ects  did  not  become  apparent  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury ;  still  we  may  foresee  thein,  even  in  the  character  of  the 
insurrt  ction,  in  the  manner  in  which  it  broke  out,  in  tlie  state 
nf  the  diiferent  elements  of  the  city  population. 

Such,  if  I  mistake  not,  are  the  principal  characteristics,  the 
general  results,  both  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  cities  and 
of  their  internal  government.  I  have  already  premised,  that 
hese  facts  were  not  so  uniform,  not  so  universal,  as  I  have 
represented  them.  There  are  great  diversities  in  the  history 
of  the  Eurojjean  free  cities.  In  the  south  (jf  France  and  ia 
Italy,  for  example,  the  Konian  municij)al  system  prevailed  , 
liie  population  was  not  nearly  so  divided,  so  uneipial,  as  in 
the  north.  Here,  also,  the  municipal  organization  wa.s  much 
better  ;  perhaps  the  eflect  of  Roman  traditions,  perhaps  of  the 
better  state  of  the  population.  In  the  north,  it  was  the  feudal 
system  that  prevailed  in  the  city  arrangements.  Here  all 
Bjemed  subordinate  to  the  struggle  against  the  barons.  The 
cities  of  the  south  paid  much  more  regard  to  their  internal  con- 
stitution, to  the  work  of  melioration  and  progress.  We  see, 
from  the  beginning,  tliat  they  will  become  free  repuldics.  The 
career  of  those  of  the  north,  above  all  tliose  of  France,  show- 
ed itself,  from  the  first,  more  rude,  more  incomj)lete,  destined 
ii3  leas  perfect,  less  beautiful  developments.  If  we  run  ovtr 
Ifioee  of  Germany,  Spain,  and  England,  we  shall  lind  among 
'J.om  many  other  dilferences.  I  cannot  particularizo  them, 
l;iit  "ihall  notice  some  of  them,  as  we  advance  in  tlie  history 
of  civilization.  All  things  at  their  origin  are  nearly  confound- 
ed  'n  one  and  Uie  same  physiognomv  :    it  is  only  ia  theii 


CIVILIZAIION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  171 

llior-growth  tliat  ihcir  variety  shows  itself.  Then  begins  u 
new  development  which  urges  forward  societies  towards  thai 
free  and  lofty  unity,  the  glorious  object  of  tl'e  eflorts  and 
wishes  of  mankind.'" 

'"  Ilallanrs  Middle  Ages,  Chap.  ii.  pt.  2,  treating  of  the  causp<j 
of  the  decline  of  the  feudal  system,  contains  a  brief  view  of  thi' 
:r/gin  of  ilie  free  cities,  the  time  of  their  incorporation  in  the  prin- 
:ipal  countries  of  feudal  Europe,  the  nature  of  their  priviit-gt-?; 
etc.  In  the  opinion  of  this  writer,  corporations  existed  earlier  in 
•Spain  than  in  any  other  country  :  the  charter  of  Leon,  granted  by 
/ilfonzo  V.  in  1020,  makes  mention  of  the  common  council  of  that 
Jity  as  an  existing  and  long-established  institution.  The  earliest 
cliarters  in  Fran"*  those  of  Si.  Queniin  and  Amiens — were  grant- 
ed bv  Louis  VI.  During  his  reign,  and  those  of  the  two  sacceed- 
ni^  kings,  llOS-1223,  the  principal  towns  in  France  acquired  the 
privileges  of  incorporation.  In  England  it  is  not  clear  that  any 
ciir|)(iraie  towns,  excc[)t  London,  possessed  the  right  of  internal 
jnrisdiciioii  before  tlie  reign  of  Ilenry  IL,  1154.  The  charter  of 
London  was  granted  by  Henry  I.,  in  IJOO. 

Most  worihy  of  the  student's  attention  is  the  history  of  the  .'ree 
cities  of  (jcrmany  and  Italy,  especially  of  the  latter,  as  having 
contrihuted  so  largely  to  the  progress  of  modern  civilization.  By 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century  the  cities  of  Lond)ardy,  with 
IVlilan  at  their  head,  had  become  extremely  rich  and  powerful; 
they  formed  a  confederation  among  themselves;  mair\tained  an  ob- 
stinate struggle  for  more  than  thirty  years  with  Frederick  Barba- 
rossa,  emperor  of  Germany,  which  terminated  in  11S3  by  the 
treaty  of  Constance,  wherein  the  emperor  renounced  all  legal  privi- 
leges in  the  interior  of  the  cities,  acknowledged  the  right  of  the 
confederated  cities  to  levy  armies,  erect  fortifications,  exercise 
criminal  and  civil  jurisdiction  by  officers  of  their  own  appointment. 

Among  the  German  cities,  confederations  were  also  fjrmed  :  of 
these  the  most  celebrated  was  the  Hanseattc  League,  which  origi- 
nated in  1239-1241,  from  a  convention  between  Lubeck,  Hamburg, 
and  one  or  two  other  cities,  by  which  they  agreed  to  defend  each 
other  against  all  oppression  and  violence,  particularly  of  tiie  nobles 
The  number  of  towns  united  in  this  league  rapidly  increased ;  il 
included  at  one  time  eighty-five  cities.  Regular  diets  were  heli 
every  third  year  at  Lubeck,  the  chief  city  of  the  confederacy.  Thin 
league  was  at  various  times  confirmed  by  kings  and  princes;  and, 
m  the  fourteenth  century,  exercised  a  powerful  political  as  well  as 
commercial  influence.     It  was  dissolved  in  1630. 

The  privileges  granted  by  charters  to  the  cities  in  the  middiC 
!<ges,  were  in  general^  these:  the  right  of  corporate  property  ;  a 
common  seal ;  exemption  from  the  more  ignominious  or  oppressive 
tokens  of  feudal  subjection,  and  the  defined  regulation  of  the  rest; 
settled  rules  as  to  succession  and  private  rights  of  property  •  and 


172  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION 

lastly,  and  of  the  greatest  value,  exempiion  from  the  royal  juribdio- 
lion,  as  well  as  from  that  of  the  lerrilorial  judges,  and  the  right  Oi 
being  governed  l)y  magistrates  of  their  own,  either  wholly,  or  (in 
some  cases)  partly  chosen  by  themselves.  By  degrees,  at  a  latei 
period,  the  cities  acquired  the  right  of  representation  in  the  legis- 
lative bodies  of  the  nation — in  Spain  as  early  as  the  middle  of  the 
twelfth  century,  in  France,  England,  Germany,  and  Italy  a&nut  b 
century  later. 


LECTURE  VIII 

SRP.TCH  OF   EUROPEAN   CIVILIZATION— STATE  OF   EUROPE  FROM 

THE     TWELFTH     TO     THE     FOURTEENTH     CENTURIES THR 

CRUSADES. 

I  HAVE  not  yet  laid  before  you  the  whole  plan  of  my  course. 
I  began  by  pointing  out  its  object,  and  I  then  went  straight 
forward,  without  taking  any  comprehensive  view  of  European 
civilization,  and  without  indicating  at  once  its  starting-point, 
its  path,  and  its  goal,— its  beginning,  middle,  and  end.  We 
are  now,  however  arrived  at  a  period  when  this  comprehen- 
sive view,  this  general  outline,  of  the  world  through  which 
we  travel,  becomes  necessary.  The  times  which  have  hither- 
to been  the  sutiject  of  our  study,  are  explained  in  some  mea 
sure  by  themselves,  or  by  clear  and  immediate  results.  The 
times  into  which  we  are  about  to  enter  can  neither  be  under- 
stood nor  excite  any  strong  interest,  unless  we  connect  them 
with  their  most  indirect  and  remote  consequences.  In  an  in- 
quiry of  such  vast  extent,  a  time  arrives  when  we  can  no 
longer  submit  to  go  forward  with  a  dark  and  unknown  path 
before  us  ;  when  we  desire  to  know  not  only  whence  we  have 
come  and  where  we  are,  but  whither  we  are  going.  This  w 
now  the  case  with  us.  The  period  which  we  approach  can- 
not  be  understood,  or  its  importance  appreciated,  unless  by 
means  of  the  relations  which  connect  it  with  modern  times. 
Its  true  spirit  has  been  revealed  only  by  the  lapse  of  many 
subsequent  ages. 

We  are  in  possession  of  almost  all  the  essential  elementB 
of  European  civilization.  I  say  almost  all,  because  I  have  not 
vet  said  anything  on  the  subject  of  monarchy.  The  crisis 
which  decidedly  developed  the  monarchical  principle,  ha/dly 
took  place  before  the  twelfth  or  even  the  thirteenth  century. 
It  was  then  only  that  the  institution  of  monarchy  was  really 
established,  and  began  to  occupy  a  definite  place  in  modern 
society.  It  is  on  this  account  that  I  have  not  sooner  entered 
on  the'  subject.     With  this  exception  we  possess,  I  repeat  it 


|74  GENERAL    HISTORV    Of 

all  tlie  great  eleineutb  of  European  society.  You  have  seen 
the  origin  of  the  feudal  aristocracy,  the  Churcii  and  the  njimi- 
cipaliiiei  ;  you  have  observed  tlie  institutions  wliich  would 
naturally  correspond  with  these  facts  ;  and  not  only  the  insli* 
tutions,  but  the  principles  and  ideas  which  thuse  tracts  naiii- 
lally  give  rise  to.  Thus,  with  reference  to  feudalism,  you  have 
watched  the  origin  of  modern  domestic  life  ;  you  have  coin 
prehcnded,  in  all  its  energy,  th3  feeling  of  personal  indepeP- 
dence,  and  the  place  which  it  must  have  occupied  in  our  civi 
lization.  *Vith  .eference  to  the  Church,  you  have  observed 
the  a|)i)earance  of  the  purely  .eligious  form  of  society,  its  re- 
lalior.s  with  civil  society,  the  principle  of  theocracy,  the  sepa- 
ration between  the  spiritual  and  temporal  powers,  the  rtrst 
blows  of  persecution,  the  first  cries  of  liberty  of  conscience. 
The  infant  numicipalities  liave  given  you  a  view  of  a  social 
union  founded  on  principles  cjuite  diflereiu  from  those  of  feu- 
dalism ;  the  diversity  of  the  classes  of  society,  their  contests 
with  each  other,  the  first  and  strongly  marked  features  of  the 
manners  of  the  modern  inhabitants  of  towns  ;  timidity  of  judg- 
ment combined  with  energy  of  soul,  proneness  to  be  excited 
by  demagogues  joined  to  a  spirit  of  obedience  to  legal  au- 
thority ;  all  the  elements,  in  short,  which  have  concurred  in 
the  formation  of  European  society  have  already  come  under 
/our  observation. 

Let  us  now  transport  ourselves  into  the  heart  of  modern 
Europe  ;  I  do  not  mean  Europe  in  the  present  day,  after  the 
prodigious  metamorphosis  we  have  witnessed,  but  in  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  What  an  immense 
difierence  !  I  have  already  insisted  on  this  difference  with 
reference  to  conununities  ;  I  have  endeavored  to  show  you 
liow  little  rcjsemblance  tliere  is  between  tiie  burgesses  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  those  of  the  twelfth.  Make  the  same 
experiment  on  feudalism  and  the  Church,  and  you  will  be 
struck  with  a  similar  metamorphosis.  There  was  no  more  ic- 
comblance  belwecn  the  nobility  of  the  court  of  Louis  XV. 
."iiul  the  feudal  aristocracy,  or  between  the  Church  in  the  days 
of  Cardinal  de  Bernis  and  those  of  the  Abbe  Suger,  than 
there  is  l)etween  the  burgesses  of  the  eighteenth  century  anJ 
the  .same  class  in  the  twelfth.  Between  these  two  periods 
though  society  had  already  acquired  all  its  elemer*^,  it  under 
»  eui  a  total  trai  sformation. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  175 

I  nm  now  desirous  to  trace  clearly  the  general  and  esscn- 
aal  character  of  this  transformation.  * 

From  the  fifth  century,  society  contained  all  that  I  have 
alroafly  found  and  doscril)ed  as  belonging  to  it, — kings,  a  lay 
aristocracy,  a  clergy,  citizens,  husbandmen,  civil  and  religious 
Titlioritirs  ;  the  germs,  in  short,  of  every  thing  necessary  to 
form  a  nation  and  a  government ;  and  yet  tnere  was  no  govern- 
nient,  no  nation.  In  all  the  period  that  has  occupied  our  al- 
Irntion,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  people,  properly  so  call- 
ed, or  a  government,  in  the  modern  acceptation  of  the  word. 
We  have  fallen  in  with  a  number  of  particular  forces,  special 
acts,  and  local  institutions;  but  nothing  general,  nothing  pub- 
ic, nothing  political,  nothing,  in  short,  like  real  nationality 

Let  us,  on  the  other  hand,  survey  Europe  in  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries:  we  everywhere  see  two 
great  objects  make  their  appearance  on  the  stage  of  ♦he  world, 
— the  government  and  the  people.  The  influence  of  a  gene- 
ral power  over  an  entire  country,  and  the  influence  of  the 
country  in  the  power  which  governs  it,  are  the  materials  of 
history ;  the  relations  between  these  great  forces,  their  allian- 
ces or  their  contests,  are  the  subjects  of  its  narration.  The 
nobility,  the  clergy,  the  citizens,  all  these  difl'erent  classes 
and  particular  powers  are  thrown  into  the  back-ground,  and 
efl'aced,  as  it  were,  by  these  two  great  objects,  the  people  and 
its  government. 

This,  if  1  am  not  deceived,  is  the  essential  feature  which 
distinguishes  modern  Europe  from  the  Europe  of  the  early 
ages  ;  and  this  was  the  change  which  was  accomplished  be- 
tween the  thirteenth  and  the  sixteenth  century. 

It  is,  then,  in  the  period  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  sixteenth 
century,  into  which  we  are  about  to  enter,  that  we  must  en 
deavor  to  find  the  cause  of  this  change.  It  is  the  distinctive 
character  of  this  period,  that  it  was  employed  in  changing 
Europe  from  its  primitive  to  its  modern  state  ;  and  hence  arisa 
its  importance  and  historical  interest.  If  we  did  not  consider 
U  under  this  point  of  view,  if  we  did  not  endeavor  to  discover 
.he  events  which  arose  out  of  this  period,  not  only  we  should 
n«ver  be  able  to  comprehend  it,  but  we  should  soon  become 
svcary  of  the  intpiiry. 

Viewed  in  itself  and  apart  from  its  results,  it  is  a  period 
without  character,  a  period  in  which  confusion  went  on  in 


176  OENERAL     HISTORY    OF 

creasing  without  appirent  causes,  a  period  of  movement  wltlv 
out  (liicction,  of  agitation  without  result ,  a  period  when  mon' 
archy,  nobility,  clergy,  citizens,  all  the  elements  of  social  or- 
f^er,  seemed  to  turn  round  in  the  same  circle,  incapable  alike 
of  progression  and  of  rest.  Experiments  of  all  kinds  were 
made  and  failed  ;  endeavors  were  made  to  establish  govern- 
ments and  lay  the  foundations  of  public  liberty  ;  reforms  in  re- 
ligion were  even  attempted  ;  but  irothiiig  was  accomplished 
or  came  to  any  result.  If  ever  the  human  race  seemed  dt.s- 
lined  to  be  always  agitated',  and  yet  always  statioi  iry,  con- 
demned to  unceasing  and  yet  barren  labors,  it  was  from  the 
thirteenth  to  the  fifteenth  century  that  this  was  the  complex- 
ion of  its  condition  and  history. 

I  am  acquainted  only  with  one  work  in  which  this  appear- 
ance of  the  period  in  questicni  is  fiiiilifuUy  described  ;  I  allude 
to  M.  de  Barante's  History  of  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy.  I  do 
not  speak  of  the  fidelity  of  his  pictures  of  manners  and  nar- 
ratives of  adventures,  but  of  that  general  fidelity  which  ren- 
ders the  work  an  exact  image,  a  tr.jo  mirror  of  the  whole  pe- 
riod, of  which  it  at  the  same  time  displays  both  the  agitation 
and  the  monotony. 

Considered,  on  the  contrary,  in  relation  to  what  has  suc- 
ceeded it,  as  the  transition  from  Europe  in  its  primitive,  to 
Europe  in  its  modern  state,  this  period  assumes  a  more  dis- 
tinct and  animated  aspect ;  we  dincovtjr  in  it  a  unity  of  de- 
sign, a  movement  in  one  direction,  a  progression  ;  and  it.-^ 
unity  and  interest  are  found  to  reside  in  the  slow  and  hidden 
labor  accomplished  in  the  course  of  its  duration. 

The  history  of  European  civilization,  then,  may  be  thrown 
into  three  great  periods :  first,  a  period  which  I  shall  call  that 
of  origin,  or  formation  ;  during  which  tlie  diflerent  elements 
of  society  disengage  themselves  from  chaos,  assume  an  ex- 
istence, and  show  themselves  in  their  native  forms,  with  the 
principles  by  which  they  are  animated;  this  period  lasted  al- 
most to  the  twelfth  century.  The  second  period  is  a  period 
of  experiments,  attempts,  groping  ;  the  different  elements  of 
Bociety  approach  and  enter  into  combination,  feeling  eacb 
oiher,  as  it  were,  but  without  producing  anything  general, 
regular,  or  durable  ;  this  state  of  thmgs,  to  say  the  truth,  did 
not  terminate  till  the  sixteenth  century.  Then  comes  the 
third  period,  or  the  period  of  dcvcA'pment,  in  which  humar 
«»otioty  in  Europe  takes  a  definite  form  follows  a  delermii.iii' 


riVIMZATION     IN    MODKRN     EUROPE.  177 

d/rnction,  proceeds  rapidly  and  with  a  general  niovenieiit,  to- 
« ards  a  clear  and  precise  object ;  this  is  the  period  which 
Dogan  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  is  now  pursuing  its  course 

Such  appears,  on  a  general  view,  to  be  the  aspect  of  En 
ropran  civilization  We  are  now  about  to  enter  into  the  so- 
cond  of  the  above  periods  ;  and  we  have  to  inquire  what  were 
(he  great  and  critical  events  which  occurred  during  its  course, 
and  which  were  the  dctorinining  causes  of  the  social  transfor- 
mation which  was  its  result. 

The  first  great  event  which  presents  itself  to  our  view,  and 
which  opened,  so  to  speak,  the  period  we  are  speaking  of, 
was  the  crusades.  They  began  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh 
rentury,  and  lasted  during  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth.  It  was 
indeed,  a  great  event  ;  for,  since  its  occurrence,  it  has  neve) 
ceased  to  occupy  the  attention  of  philosophical  historians, 
who  ],zve  shown  themselves  aware  of  its  inHuence  in  chang- 
ing the  conditions  of  nations,  and  of  the  necessity  of  study  ir 
order  to  comprehend  the  general  course  of  its  facts. 

The  first  character  of  the  crusades  is  their  universality  ;  all 
Europe  concurred  in  them ;  they  were  the  first  European 
event.  Before  the  crusades,  Europe  had  never  been  moved 
by  the  same  sentiment,  or  acted  in  a  common  cause  ;  till  then, 
in  fact,  Europe  did  not  exist.  The  crusades  made  manifest 
the  existence  of  Christian  Europe.  The  French  formed  the 
main  body  of  the  first  army  of  crusaders  ;  but  there  were  al- 
so Germans,  Italians,  Spaniards,  and  English.  But  look  at 
the  .'='econd  and  third  crusades,  and  we  find  all  the  nations  of 
Christendom  engaged  in  them.  The  world  had  never  before 
witnessed  a  similar  combination. 

But  this  is  not  all.  In  the  same  manner  as  the  crusades 
were  a  European  event,  so,  in  each  separate  nation,  they  were 
1  national  event.  In  every  nation,  all  classes  of  society  were 
.animated  with  the  same  impression,  yielded  to  the  same  idea, 
and  abandoned  themselves  to  the  same  impulse.  Kings,  nobles, 
prjests,  citizens,  country  people,  all  took  the  same  interest 
and  the  same  share  in  the  crusades.  The  moral  unity  of  na- 
ions  was  thus  made  manifest;  a  fact  as  new  as  the  unity  of 
Kurope 


iV8  OENEUAL    HISTORY    OF 

When  sucli  events  take  place  in  what  may  be  callrd  tht 
youth  of  nations  ;  in  periods  when  they  act  spontaneously, 
freely,  witlioul  premeditation  or  political  design,  we  recog- 
nise what  history  Calls  heroic  events,  the  heroic  ages  of  na- 
lions.  The  crusades  were  the  heroic  event  of  modern  Eu- 
rope ;  a  movement  at  ihe  same  time  individual  and  general; 
r.alional,  and  yet  not  ur^der  political  direction. 

Tha*.  this  was  really  their  primitive  character  is  proved  by 
every  fact,  and  every  document.  Who  were  the  first  crusad- 
ers I  Bands  of  people  who  set  out  under  the  conduct  of  Pe- 
ter the  Hermit,  without  preparations,  guitles,  or  leaders,  fol- 
lowed rather  than  led  by  a  few  obscure  knights,  traversed  Ger- 
many and  the  Greek  empire,  and  were  dispersed,  or  perished^ 
in  Asia  Minor. 

The  liigher  class,  the  feudal  nobility,  next  put  themselves 
m  motion  for  the  crusade.  Under  the  command  of  Godfrey 
of  Bouillon,  the  nobles  and  their  men  departed  full  of  ardor. 
When  they  had  traversed  Asia  Minor,  tlie  leaders  of  the  cru- 
saders were  seized  with  a  fit  of  lukew^armness  and  fatigue. 
They  became  indiflierent  about  continuing  their  course  ;  they 
were  inclined  rather  to  look  to  their  own  interest,  to  make 
conquests  and  possess  them.  The  mass  of  the  army,  how- 
ever, rose  up,  and  insisted  on  marching  to  Jerusalem,  the  de 
liverance  of  the  lioly  city  being  the  object  of  the  crusade.  It 
was  not  to  gain  principalities  for  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  or 
for  Bohemond,  or  any  other  leader,  that  the  crusaders  had 
taken  arms.  The  popular,  national,  European  impulse  over- 
came all  the  intentions  of  individuals  ;  and  the  l(;aders  had 
not  sufllcient  ascendency  over  the  masses  to  make  them  yield 
to  their  personal  interests. 

The  sovereigns,  who  had  been  strangers  to  the  first  cru- 
sade, were  now  drawn  into  the  general  movement  as  the 
people  had  been.  The  great  crusades  of  the  twelfth  cftuturv 
were  couunanded  by  kings. 

I  now  go  at  once  to  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  A 
HTeal  deal  was  still  said  in  Europe  about  crusades,  and  they 
y/ere  even  preached  with  a.  Jor  The  popes  excited  the  sove- 
reigns an  I  tiie  people  ;  councils  were  held  to  recommend  tht 
conquest  of  the  holy  land  ;  but  no  expeditions  of  any  import 
ince  were  now  undertaken  for  this  purpose,  and  it  was  ro 
t^arded  with  Qouer'il  indiflerence.    Something  had  entered  ir 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  179 

to  the  spirit  of  European  society  which  put  an  end  to  the  cm- 
pailes.  Some  private  expeditions  still  took  place ;  some 
Moblcb  and  some  bands  of  troops  still  continued  to  depart  for 
Icnisalem  ;  but  the  general  movement  was  evidently  arrested. 
Neither  the  necessity,  however,  nor  its  facility  of  continuing 
it,  seemoc!  to  have  ceased.  The  Moslems  triuinphed  more 
ind  more  in  Asia.  Tlic  Christian  kingdom  founded  at  Jeru- 
unlein  had  fallen  into  their  hands.  It  still  appeared  necessary 
0  regain  it ;  and  the  means  of  success  were  greater  than  at 
>he  c(nnn:oncemcnt  of  the  crusades.  A  great  number  of 
Cliristians  were  established  and  still  powerful  in  Asia  Minor, 
Syria,  and  Palestine.  The  proper  means  of  tiansport,  and  o( 
carrying  on  the  war,  were  better  known.  Still,  notliing  could 
revive  tlie  spirit  of  the  crusades.  It  is  evident  that  the  two 
great  forces  of  society — the  sovereigns  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  people  on  the  other — no  longer  desired  their  continuaMce 
It  has  been  often  said  that  Europe  was  weary  of  these  con- 
stant inroads  upon  Asia.  We  must  come  to  an  understanding 
as  to  the  meaning  of  the  word  7ocariness,  frequently  used  on 
such  occasions.  It  is  exceedingly  incorrect.  It  is  not  true 
that  generations  of  inankind  can  be  weary  of  what  has  not 
been  done  by  themselves  ;  that  they  can  be  wearied  by  the 
fatigues  of  their  fathers.  Weariness  is  personal ;  it  cannot 
be  transmitted  like  an  inheritance.  The  people  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  were  not  weary  of  the  crusades  of  the  twelfth  ; 
they  were  influenced  by  a  diflerent  cause.  A  great  change 
had  taken  place  in  opinions,  sentiments,  and  social  relations. 
There  were  no  longer  the  same  wants,  or  the  same  desires : 
the  people  no  longer  b(!iieved,  or  wished  to  belicvo,  in  the 
same  things.  It  is  by  these  moral  or  political  changes,  and 
not  by  weariness,  that  the  diflerences  in  the  conduct  of  suc- 
cessive generations  can  be  explained.  The  pretended  weari- 
ness ascribed  to  them  is  a  metaphor  wholly  destitute  of  truth 


Two  great  causes,  the  one  moral,  the  other  social,  impelled 
Knropc  into  the  crusades. 

The  moral  cause,  as  you  are  aware,  was  the  impidsc  ol  le- 
•  lyiDUS  feeling  and  beliet'.  From  the  end  of  the  seventh  cen- 
turj',  Christianity  maintained  a  constant  stn  ggle  against  Mo 
hammedanism.  It  had  overcome  Mohammedanism  in  Europe, 
ifter  having  been  threatened  with  great  danger  from  !»  :  an.l 
12 


180  GENERAL     HISTORY     OP 

had  succeed'jd  ir  confining  it  to  Spain  Even  from  thenct 
ihe  expulsion  of  Mohammedanism  was  constantly  attempted 
The  crusades  have  been  represented  as  a  sort  of  accident,  an 
unforeseen  event,  sprung  from  the  recitals  of  pilgrims  return- 
ed from  Jerusalem,  and  the  preaching  of  Peter  the  Hermit 
They  were  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  crusades  were  the  con- 
tinuation, the  height  of  the  great  struggle  which  had  subsist- 
ed for  four  centuries  between  Christianity  aad  Mohammedan- 
£8m.  The  theatre  of  this  contest  had  hitherto  been  in  Eu- 
rope ;  it  was  now  transported  into  Asia.  If  I  had  attached 
any  value  to  those  comparisons,  those  parallels,  into  which 
historical  facts  are  sometimes  made  willing  or  unwillingly  to 
enter,  I  might  show  you  Christianity  running  exac  ly  the  same 
course,  and  undergoing  the  same  destiny  in  Asia,  as  Moham- 
medanism in  Europe.  Mohammedanism  established  itself  in 
JSpain,  where  it  conquered,  founded  a  kingdom  and  various 
principalities.  The  Christians  did  the  same  thing  in  Asia. 
They  were  there  in  regard  to  the  Mohammedans,  in  the  same 
situation  as  the  Mohammedans  in  Spuin  with  regard  to  the 
Christians.  The  kingdom  of  Jerusalem  corresponds  witli  the 
kingdom  of  Granada :  but  these  similitudes,  after  all,  are  of 
little  importance.  The  great  fact  was  the  struggle  between 
the  two  religious  and  social  systems  :  the  crusades  were  its 
principal  crisis.  This  is  their  historical  character ;  the  chain 
which  connects  them  with  the  general  course  of  events. 

Another  cause,  the  social  state  of  Europe  in  the  eleventh 
century,  equally  contributed  to  the  breaking  out  of  the  cru- 
sades. I  have  been  careful  to  explain  why,  from  the  fifth  to 
the  eleventh  century,  there  vas  no  such  thing  as  generality 
in  Europe ;  I  have  endeavored  to  show  how  every  thing  had 
assumed  a  local  character  ;  how  stales,  existing  institutions, 
and  opinions,  were  confined  within  very  narrow  bounds  :  it 
was  then  that  the  feudal  system  prevailed.  After  the  lapse  of 
some  lime,  such  a  narrow  horizon  was  no  longer  sudlcient  j 
human  thought  and  activity  aspired  to  pass  beyond  the  nar- 
row sphere  in  which  they  were  confined.  The  people  no 
longer  led  their  former  wandering  life,  but  had  not  Irst  the 
taste  for  its  movement  and  its  adventures  ;  they  threw  them- 
selves into  the  crusades  as  into  a  new  state  of  existence,  ir 
which  they  were  more  at  large,  and  enjoyed  more  variety 
which  reminded  them  of  the  freedom  of  former  barbarism 
v'hile  it  opened  l-oundless  prospects  c''  futurity. 


CIVII.I7,ATI()N     IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  IRl 

These  were,  in  my  opinion,  the  two  determining  causes  oi 
ihe  crusades  in  the  twelfth  century.  At  the  end  of  the  thir- 
teenth, neither  of  these  causes  continued  to  exist  Mankind 
and  society  were  so  greatly  changed,  that  noitliei  tlie  moral 
nor  llie  social  incitements  which  had  imjxdled  Europe  upon 
Asia  were  felt  any  longer.  I  do  not  know  whetlier  many  of 
you  have  read  the  original  historians  of  the  crusades,  or  have 
ever  thought  of  comparing  the  contemporary  chroniclers  of  iiio 
first  crusades  with  those  of  the  end  of  tlie  twelfth  and  thir- 
teenth centuries  ;  for  example,  Albert  de  Aix,  Robert  (he 
Monk,  and  Raynard  d'Argile,  who  were  engaged  in  the  first 
crusade  with  William  of  Tyre  and  Jacques  de  Vitry.  When 
we  compare  these  two  classes  of  writers,  it  is  impossible  not 
to  be  struck  with  the  distance  between  them.  The  first  are 
animated  chroniclers,  whose  imagination  is  excited,  and  who 
relate  the  events  of  the  crusade  with  passion  :  but  they  are 
narrow-minded  in  the  extrenie,  without  an  idea  beyond  the 
little  sphere  in  which  they  lived  ;  ignorant  of  every  science, 
full  of  prejudices,  incapable  of  forming  an  opinion  on  what 
was  passing  around  them,  or  the  events  which  were  the  sub- 
ject of  their  narratives.  Rut  open,  on  the  other  hand,  the  his- 
tory of  the  crusades  by  William  of  Tyre,  and  you  will  be  sur- 
prised to  find  almost  a  modern  historian  ;  a  cultivated,  en- 
larged, and  liberal  mind,  great  political  intelligence,  genera.' 
views  and  opinions  upon  causes  and  efl^ects.  Jacques  de  Vi- 
try is  an  example  of  another  species  of  cultivation  ;  he  is  a 
man  of  learning,  who  does  not  confine  himself  to  what  imme- 
diately concerns  the  crusades,  but  describes  the  state  of  man- 
ners, the  geography,  the  religion,  and  natural  history  of  the 
country  to  which  his  history  relates.  There  is,  in  short,  an 
immense  distance  between  the  historians  of  the  first  and  of  the 
last  crusades  ;  a  distance  which  manifests  an  actual  revolu- 
tioD  in  the  state  of  the  human  mind. 

This  revolution  is  most  conspicuous  in  the  manner  in  which 
these  two  classes  of  writers  speak  of  the  Mohammedans.  For 
the  first  chroniclers, — and  consequently  for  the  first  crusaders, 
of  whose  sentiments  the  first  chroniclers  are  merely  the  or- 
gans,— the  Mohammedans  are  only  an  object  of  hatred ;  it  is 
clear  that  those  who  speak  of  them  do  not  know  them,  form 
no  judgment  respecting  them,  nor  consider  them  under  any 
point  of  view  but  that  of  the  religious  hostility  which  exists 
between  them  No  vestige  of  social  relation  is  discoverable 
between  them  and  the  Mohammedans  :  thev  detest  them,  an-i 


182'  OENERAI      HISTORV    OF 

fight  witli  lliem  ;  and  nothing  more.  William  of  Tyre,  Jacques 
de  Vitry,  Bernard  le  Tresorier,  speak  of  the  Mussulmans 
quite  differently.  We  see  that,  even  while  fighting  with  them, 
they  no  longer  regard  them  as  monsters ;  that  they  have 
entered  to  a  certaui  extent  into  their  ideas,  that  they  have 
lived  with  them,  and  that  certain  social  relations,  and  even  c 
sort  of  sympathy,  have  arisen  between  them.  William  of 
Tyre  pronounces  a  glowing  eulogium  on  Noureddin  and  Ber- 
nard le  Tresorier  on  Saladin.  They  sometimes  even  go  tho 
length  of  placing  tlie  manners  and  conduct  of  the  Mussulmans 
in  opposition  to  those  of  the  Christians  ;  they  adopt  the  man- 
ners and  sentiments  of  the  Mussulmans  in  order  to  satirise  tho 
Christians,  in  the  same  manner  as  Tacitus  delineated  the 
manners  of  tlie  Germans  in  contrast  with  those  of  Rome. 
You  see,  then,  what  an  immense  change  must  have  taken 
place  between  these  two  periods,  since  you  find  in  the  latter, 
in  regard  to  the  very  enemies  of  the  Christians,  the  very 
people  against  whom  the  crusades  were  directed,  an  impar- 
tiality of  judgment  which  would  have  filled  the  first  crusadera 
with  surprise  and  horror. 

The  principal  eff*ect,  then,  of  the  crusades  was  a  great  step 
towards  the  emancipation  of  the  mind,  a  great  progress  to- 
wards enlarged  and  liberal  ideas.  Though  begun  under  tho 
oame  and  influence  of  religious  belief,  the  crusades  deprived 
religious  ideas,  I  shall  not  say  of  their  legitimate  share  of  in- 
fluence, but  of  their  exclusive  and  despotic  possession  of  the 
human  mind.  This  result,  though  undoubtedly  unforeseen, 
arose  from  various  causes.  The  first  was  evidently  the  novel- 
ty, extent,  and  variety  of  the  scene  which  displayed  itself  to 
the  crusaders  j  what  generally  happens  to  travellers  happened 
to  them.  It  is  mere  common-place  to  say,  that  travelling 
gives  freedom  to  the  mind  ;  that  the  habit  of  observing  diff'er- 
eut  nations,  different  manners,  and  diffierent  opinions,  enlarges 
the  ideas,  and  disengages  the  judgment  from  old  prejudicoa 
The  same  thing  happened  to  those  nations  of  travellers  who 
fiave  been  called  the  crusaders  ;  their  minds  were  opened  and 
raised  by  having  seen  a  multitude  of  difl^erent  things,  by  hav 
Ing  become  acquainted  with  otlier  manners  than  their  own. 
Tlicy  found  themselves  also  placed  in  connexion  with  two 
states  of  civilization,  not  only  different  from  their  own,  bul 
more  advanced— Jie  Greek  state  of  society  on  the  one  hand 
ard  the  Mussulman  on  the  other.     There  is  no  doul)«  that  liic 


CIl'lLIZATlON     'N     MODERN     EUROl-E  183 

lociet)  of  the  Greeks,  though  enervated,  perverted,  and  de 
caying,  gave  (lie  crusaders  tlie  impression  of  something  more 
advanced,  polished,  and  enlightened  than  tlieir  own.  The  so 
ciety  of  the  Mussulmans  presented  them  a  scone  of  the  same 
kind  II  is  curious  to  observe  in  the  chronicles  the  impres- 
sion made  by  the  crusaders  on  the  Mussulmans,  who  regarded 
them  at  first  as  the  most  brutal,  ferocious,  and  stupid  barba- 
rians they  had  ever  seen.  The  crusaders,  on  their  part,  wer«? 
struck  with  the  riches  and  elegnnce  of  manners  which  they 
observ(;d  among  the  Mussulmans.  'J'liese  first  impressions 
were  succeeded  by  frequent  relations  between  the  Mussul- 
.nans  and  Christians.  These  became  more  extensive  and  im- 
portant than  is  commonly  believed.  Not  only  had  the  Chris- 
tians of  the  East  habitual  relations  with  the  Mussulmans,  but 
ihe  people  of  the  East  ajid  the  West  became  acquainted  with, 
visited,  and  mingled  with  each  other.  It  is  but  lately  that  one 
of  those  learned  men  who  do  honor  to  France  in  the  eyes  of 
Europe,  M.  Abel  Remusat,  has  discovered  the  relations  which 
subsisted  between  the  Mongol  emperors  and  the  Christian 
kings.  Mongol  ambassadors  were  sent  to  the  kings  of  the 
Franks,  and  to  St.  Louis  among  others,  in  order  to  persuade 
them  to  enter  into  alliance,  and  to  resume  the  crusades  for  the 
common  interest  of  the  Mongols  and  the  Christians  against 
the  Turks.  And  not  only  were  diplomatic  and  official  relations 
thus  established  between  the  sovereigns,  but  there  was  much 
and  various  intercourse  between  the  nations  of  the  East  and 
West.     I  shall  quote  the  words  of  M.  Abel  Remusat  :*-r- 

"Many  men  of  religious  orders,  Italians,  French,  and  Flemmgs, 
were  charged  with  diplomatic  missions  to  the  court  of  the  Great 
Khan.  Mongols  of  distinction  came  to  Rome,  Barcelona,  Valenlia, 
Lyons,  Paris,  London,  and  iMortliampton ;  and  a  Franciscan  of  the 
kingdom  of  Naples  was  archbishop  of  Pekin.  His  successor  was  a 
professor  of  theology  in  the  university  of  Paris.  But  how  many 
Bthe.  people  followed  in  the  train  of  those  personages,  either  as 
slaves,  or  attracted  by  the  desire  of  profit,  or  led  by  curiosity  into 
regions  hitherto  unknown!  Chance  has  preserved  the  names  of 
lome  of  these;  the  first  envoy  who  visited  the  king  of  Hungary  on 
die  part  of  the  Tartars  was  an  Englishman,  who  hac  been  banish- 
ed from  his  country  for  certain  crimes,  and  who,  after  having  wan- 
dered over  Asia,  at  last  entered  into  the  service  if  ttic  Mongols.  A 
Fltauch  Cordelier,  in  the  iieart  of  Tartary,  fell  in  with  a  wcman 


'Memixres  sui  let  Relations  Politiqiies  dcs  Princes  Chr6tieus  avpc  les  Empcrouuf 
Mongols.    Deuxiftmc  Mfiiuuire,  p   154,157. 


184  GrNERAL    HISTOnV    Of 

of  Mecz  calUd  Paquet<.e,  who  had  been  carried  off  iiiio  Hungary 
a  Parisian  goldsmith  and  a  young  man  from  ihe  neighborliood  ol 
Rouen,  who  had  b<^en  at  the  taking  of  Belgrade.  In  tlie  samt 
country  he  fell  m  a. so  with  Russians,  Hungar'ans,  and  Fleminga. 
A  singer,  called  Robert,  after  having  travell^-d  through  Easteiu 
Asia,  returned  to  end  his  days  in  the  cathedral  of  Chartres.  A  Tar- 
tar was  a  furnisher  of  helmets  in  the  armies  of  Philip  the  Fail. 
Jean  de  Plancarpin  fell  in,  near  Gayouk,  with  a  Russian  gentleman 
whom  he  calls  Terner,  and  who  acted  as  an  'nterpreter;  and  many 
merchants  of  Breslaw,  Poland,  and  Austria,  accompanied  him  in 
■jis  journey  into  Tartary.  Others  returned  with  him  through  Hus- 
«a;  they  were  Genoese,  Pjsans,  and  Venetians.  Two  Venetians, 
merchants,  whom  chance  had  brought  to  Bokhara,  followed  a  Mon- 
gol ambassador,  sent  by  Houlagou  to  Khoubilai.  They  remained 
many  years  in  China  and  Tartary,  returned  with  letters  from  the 
Great  Khan  to  the  Pope,  and  afterwards  went  back  to  the  Khan, 
taking  with  them  the  son  of  one  of  their  number,  the  celebrated 
Marco  Polo,  and  once  more  left  the  court  of  Khoubilai  to  return  to 
Venice.  Travels  of  this  nature  were  not  less  frequent  in  the  fol- 
lowing century.  Of  this  number  are  those  of  John  Mandeville, 
an  English  physician  ;  Odenc  de  Frioul,  Pegoletti,  Guilleaume  do 
Bouldeselle,  and  several  oth»rs.  It  may  well  be  supposed,  thai 
those  travels  of  which  the  memory  is  preserved,  form  but  a  small 
part  of  those  which  were  undertaken,  and  there  were  in  those 
days  many  more  people  who  were  able  to  perform  those  long  jour- 
neys than  to  write  accounts  of  them.  Many  of  those  adventurers 
must  have  remained  and  died  in  the  countries  they  went  to  visit. 
Others  returned  home,  as  obscure  as  before,  but  having  their  imagi- 
nation full  of  the  things  they  had  .-.een,  relating  them  to  their  fami- 
lies, with  much  exaggeration  no  doul>t,  but  leaving  behind  them, 
among  many  ridiculous  fables,  useful  recollections  and  traditions 
capable  of  bearing  fruit.  Thus,  in  Germany,  Italy,  and  France,  in 
the  monasteries,  among  the  nobility,  and  even  down  to  the  lowest 
classes  of  society,  there  were  deposited  many  precious  seeds  des- 
tined to  bud  at  a  somewhat  later  period.  All  these  unknown  tra- 
velers, carrying  the  arts  of  their  own  country  into  distant  regions, 
brought  back  other  pieces  of  knowledge  not  less  precious,  and, 
without  being  aware  of  it,  made  exchanges  more  advantageous 
ihan  those  of  commerce.  By  these  means,  not  only  the  traffic  in  the 
silks,  porcelain,  and  other  commodities  of  Ilindostan,  became  more 
extensive  and  practicable,  and  new  paths  were  opened  to  commer- 
cial industry  and  enterprise;  but,  what  was  more  valuable  still, 
foreign  manners,  unknown  nations,  extraordinary  productions,  pre- 
PCiited  themselves  in  abundance  to  the  minds  of  the  Europeans, 
which,  since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  had  been  confined  with- 
n  too  narrow  a  circle.  Men  began  to  attach  some  importance  to 
liie  most  beautiful,  the  nrjosl  populous,  and  the  most  anciently  civi- 
.i2ed,  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  world.  They  began  to  study  the 
alts,  tlie  religions.  ;he  languages,  of  the  nations  by  vhom  it  waj 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN     EUKOPP  185 

nliabiteJ ;  and  there  was  even  an  intention  of  establishing  a  pro- 
.essorship  of  tlie  Tartar  language  in  the  university  of  Paris.  The 
accounts  of  travellers,  strange  and  exaggerated,  indeed,  but  soon 
Jiscussed  and  cleared  up,  dilfused  more  correct  and  varied  notions 
v(  those  (lisiant  regions.  The  world  seemed  to  open,  as  i'  were, 
towards  the  East;  geography  made  an  immense  stride  ;  and  ardol 
for  discovery  became  the  new  form  assumed  by  European  spirit  oJ 
adventure.  The  idea  of  another  hemisphere,  when  our  own  camt 
to  be  betler  known,  no  longer  seemed  an  improbable  paradox,  a.»d 
It  was  when  in  search  of  the  Zipangri  of  Marco  Polo  that  Christo 
phcr  Columbus  discovered  the  New  World." 

You  see,  then,  what  a  vast  and  unexplored  world  was  laid 
open  to  the  view  of  European  intelligence  by  the  consequen- 
ces of  the  crusades.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  impulse 
which  led  to  them  was  one  of  the  most  powerful  causes  of 
the  development  and  freedom  of  mind  which  arose  out  of  thai 
great  event. 

There  is  anotlier  circumstance  which  is  worthy  of  notice 
Down  to  the  time  of  the  crusades,  the  court  of  Rome,  the 
centre  of  the  Church,  had  been  very  little  in  communication 
with  the  laity,  unless  through  the  medium  of  ecclesiastics  ; 
either  legates  sent  by  the  court  of  Rome,  or  the  whole  body 
of  the  bishops  and  clergy.  There  were  always  some  laymen 
in  direct  relation  with  Rome  ;  but  upon  the  whole,  it  was  by 
means  of  churchmen  that  Rome  had  any  communication  with 
the  people  of  different  countries.  During  the  crusades,  on 
the  contrary,  Rome  became  a  halting-place  for  a  great  portion 
of  the  crusaders,  either  in  going  or  returning.  A  multitude  ol 
laymen  were  spectators  of  its  policy  and  its  manners,  and 
were  able  to  discover  the  share  which  personal  interest  had 
iH  religious  disputes.  There  is  no  doubt  that  this  newly-ac- 
quired knowledge  inspired  many  minds  with  a  boldness  hither- 
to unknown. 

When  we  consider  the  state  of  the  general  mind  at  the  ter- 
niu'ition  of  the  crusades,  especially  in  regard  to  ecclesiastU 
ral  matters,  we  cannot  fail  to  be  struck  with  a  singular  fact, 
religious  notions  underwent  no  change,  and  were  not  replaced 
bj  contrary  or  even  different  opinions.  Thought,  notwith 
standing,  had  become  more  free  ;  religious  creeds  were  not 
'he  only  subject  on  which  the  human  mind  exercised  its  facul- 
:ie8  ;  vHliout  abandoning  them,  it  began  occasionally  to  wan- 
ler  from  them.  ai»d  to  take  other  directions.     Thus,  at  the 


IS6  Or.NERAL    HISTORY    OF 

end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  moral  cause  \vhi:jh  had  led 
to  the  crusades,  or  which,  at  least,  had  been  their  most  ener- 
getic principle,  had  disappeared ;  the  moral  state  of  Europe 
had  undergone  an  essential  modification 

The  social  state  of  society  had  ijndergone  an  analogoin 
change.  Many  inquiries  have  been  made  as  to  the  iufluencr 
of  the  crusades  in  this  respect ;  it  has  been  shown  in  what 
manner  they  had  reduced  a  great  number  of  feudal  proprietors. 
to  the  necessity  of  selling  their  fiefs  to  the  kings,  or  to  sell 
their  privileges  lo  the  communities,  in  order  to  raise  money 
for  the  crusades. 

It  has  been  shown  that,  in  consequence  of  their  absence, 
many  of  the  nobles  lost  a  great  portion  of  their  power.  With- 
Dut  entering  into  the  details  of  tliis  question,  we  may  collect 
into  a  few  general  facts  the  influence  of  the  crusades  on  the 
Bocial  state  of  Europe. 

They  greatly  diminished  the  number  of  potty  (iefs,  petty 
domains,  and  petty  proprietors  ;  they  concenlraled  property 
and  power  in  a  smaller  immber  of  hands.  It  is  from  the  time 
of  the  crusades  that  we  may  observe  the  formation  and  growth 
of  great  fiefs — the  existence  of  feudal  power  on  a  large  scale. 

I  have  often  regretted  that  there  was  not  a  map  of  France 
divided  into  fiefs,  as  we  have  a  map  of  France  divided  into 
departments,  urrundissonculs,  cantons  and  cutninunen^  in  wiiich 
all  the  ^ici^  were  marked,  with  their  boundaries,  relations 
with  each  other,  and  successive  changes.  If  we  could  have 
compared,  by  the  help  of  such  maps,  the  state  of  France  be- 
fore ajid  after  the  crusades,  we  should  have  seen  how  many 
small  fiefs  had  disappeared,  and  to  what  exten'  the  greater 
ones  had  increased.  This  was  one  of  the  most  important  re- 
sults of  the  crusades. 

Even  in  those  cases  where  small  proprietors  preserved  their 
fiefs,  they  did  not  live  upon  them  in  such  an  insulated  state  a« 
formerly.  The  possessors  of  great  fiefs  became  so  many 
centres  around  which  the  smaller  ones  were  gathered,  and 
near  which  they  came  to  live.  During  the  crusades,  small 
proprietors  found  it  necessary  to  place  themselves  in  the  train 
uf  some  rich  and  powerful  chief,  from  whom  they  received 
ajdistance  and  support.  They  lived  witli  him,  shared  his  for- 
tune, and  passed  through  the  same  adventures  that  he  did. 
When  the  crusaders  returned  home,  this  social  spirit,  thia 
habit  of  living  in  int  ircourse   with    superiors    contijjued    tr 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN      KOnOFB.  187 

subsist,  nnd  had  its  influence  on  the  manners  of  the  age.  As 
^'6  see  thdt  the  great  fiefs  were  increased  after  the  criisadss. 
»o  we  see,  also,  that  the  proprietors  of  these  fiefs  held,  within 
heir  castles,  a  much  more  considerahle  court  than  before,  and 
were  surrounded  by  a  greater  number  of  genthiuien,  who  pre- 
served their  httle  domains,  but  no  longer  kept  within  them. 

The  extension  of  the  great  fiefs,  and  tiie  creation  of  a  nurri 
ber  of  central  points  in  society,  in  place  of  the  general  dis 
jHjrsion  which  j/reviously  existed,  were  tlie  two  principal 
cflbcts  of  the  crusades,  considered  with  rcsj)ect  to  their  in- 
llueuco  upon  feudalism. 

As  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  towns,  a  result  of  the  same  iia- 
lure  may  easily  be  perceived.  The  crusades  created  great 
civic  communities.  Petty  commerce  and  petty  industry  were 
not  sufTicient  to  give  rise  to  communities  such  as  the  great 
cities  of  Italy  and  F'landers.  It  was  commerce  on  a  great 
scale — maritime  coinmerce,  and,  especially,  the  commerce  ol 
the  East  and  West,  which  gave  them  birth  ;  now  it  was  the 
crusades  which  gave  to  maritime  commerce  the  greatest  im- 
pulse it  had  yet  received. 

On  the  whole,  when  we  survey  the  state  of  society  at  the 
end  of  the  crusades,  we  find  that  the  movement  tending  to 
dissolution  and  dispersion,  the  movement  of  universal  locali- 
sation (if  I  may  be  allowed  such  an  expression),  had  ceased, 
and  had  been  succeeded  by  a  movement  in  the  contrary  di- 
rection, a  movement  of  centralization.  All  things  tended  to 
mutual  approximation  ;  small  things  were  absorbed  in  great 
ones,  or  gathered  round  them.  Such  was  the  direction  the'» 
taken  by  the  progress  of  society. 

You  now  understand  why,  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  and 
in  the  fourteenth  century,  neither  nations  nor  sovereigns 
wished  to  have  any  more  crusades.  They  neither  needed  nor 
desired  them  ;  they  had  been  thrown  into  them  by  the  impulses 
of  religious  spirit,  and  the  exclusive  dominion  of  religious 
iieas  ;  but  this  dominion  had  now  lost  its  energy.  They  had 
also  sought  in  the  crusades  a  new  way  of  life,  of  a  less  con- 
fined and  more  varied  description  ;  but  they  began  to  find  this 
m  Europe  itself,  in  the  progress  of  the  social  relations.  It 
was  at  this  time  that  kings  began  to  see  the  road  to  political 
^ggra^ldizement.  Why  go  to  Asia  in  sea'-"h  of  kindoms,  when 
dicre  were  kingdoms  to  conquer  at  their  \ery  doors  ?  Philip 
\ugustus  embarked  in  the  crusade  very  unwillingly  ;  and  M  haJ 


)S8  OKNKRAL     HISTORY    Of 

could  tc.  moie  iialural  ?  His  desire  was  to  make  himself 
King  of  France.  It  was  the  same  thing  with  the  people.  Tht 
"oad  to  weallli  was  open  to  them  ;  and  they  gave  up  adven- 
fures  for  industry.  Adventures  were  replaced,  for  sovereigns, 
by  political  projects  ;  for  the  people,  by  industry  on  a  laige 
scale.  One  class  only  of  society  still  had  a  taste  for  adve'X 
lure ;  thai  portion  of  the  feudal  nolnlily,  who,  not  being  in  a 
condition  to  think  of  political  aggrandizement,  and  not  being 
disposed  to  industry,  retained  their  former  situation  and  man- 
ners. This  class,  accordingly,  contimied  to  embark  in  cru- 
sades, and  endeavored  to  renew  them. 

Such,  in  my  opinion,  are  the  real  elfects  of  the  crusades , 
0T\  the  one  hand  the  extension  of  ideas  and  the  emancipation 
of  thought ;  on  the  other,  a  general  enlargement  of  ihe  social 
sphere,  and  the  opening  of  a  wider  field  for  every  sort  of  ac- 
tivity:  they  produced,  at  the  same  time,  more  individual  free- 
dom and  more  political  unity.  They  tended  to  the  indepen- 
dence of  man  and  the  centralization  of  society.  Many  in- 
quiries have  been  made  respecting  the  means  of  civilization 
which  were  directly  imported  from  the  East.  It  has  been 
said  that  the  largest  part  of  the  great  discoveries  which,  in 
the  course  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  contribut- 
ed to  the  progress  of  European  civilization — such  as  the  com- 
pass, printing,  and  gunpowder — were  known  in  the  East,  and 
that  the  crusaders  brouglit  tliem  into  Europe.  Tiiis  is  true  to 
a  certain  extent ;  though  some  of  these  assertions  may  bo 
disputed.  But  what  cannot  be  disputed  is  this  influence,!  this 
general  effect  of  the  crusades  upon  the  human  mind  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  state  of  society  on  the  other.  They  drew 
society  out  of  a  very  narrow  road,  to  throw  it  into  new  and 
infinitely  broader  paths  ;  they  began  that  transformation  of  the 
•arioub  elements  of  European  society  into  governments  and 
nations,  which  is  the  characteristic  of  modern  civilization. 
The  same  j)eriod  witnessed  the  development  of  one  of  those 
institutions  wiiicli  has  most  |)owerfully  contribulcd  to  ihib 
great  result — monarchy ;  the  history  of  wliich,  from  the  birtl 
cf  the  modern  states  of  Europe  to  the  tliirteenth  century,  will 
Torm  the  subject  of  our  next  lecture.^" 

^  On  tlie  subject  of  this  lecture,  see  Mill's  History  of  the  Cm 
saJes.  Gibbon  and  Robertson  may  also  be  consulted.  The  beat 
works  in  German  are  Frederick  Wilken's  Gcschichle  der  Kreutziige 
ind  lleeren's  Versuch  einer  EiUwickelung  der  Folgen  der  Kreuliugt 
fur  Europa.     lu  French,  Michaud's  IlisCoire  des  Croisades 


CI\    LIZATION     IN     M0UB;RN      tUROI'E.  1 8'.l 

The  following  cliroiiological  table  may  serve  to  put  beforl  tlw 
si'ideiu's  eye  a  connected  outline  of  tlie  [irincipal  Aicts.  Eight 
irusadcs  are  enumerated. 

First  Crusade.— A.  D.  1096-1100.     Urban  II.  Pope. 

«  n. 

.  )94.  Pcler  the  Hermit  returned  from  a  pilgrimage — by  direction 
of  the  Pope,  preaches  throughout  Europe. 

It '95.  Council  of  Clermont  in  France.  (A  previous  council  had 
been  held  at  Placenza.)  AtteiiJed  by  the  Pope  and  an  im- 
mense concourse  of  clergy  and  nobles.  The  crusade  proclaim- 
ed— great  privileges,  civil  and  ecclesiastical,  granted  to  all  who 
should  •'  assume  the  cross" — a  year  allowed  to  prepare.  Peter 
the  Ilernnt,  not  waiting,  sets  out  at  the  head  of  a  vast  rabble 
of  unjisciplined  fanatics  and  marauders,  who  perish  by  dis- 
ease, famine,  and  the  sword,  in  Asia  Minor. 

lf)9r).  An  army  of  100,000  mounted  and  mailed  warriors,  600,000 
men  capable  of  bearing  arms,  and  a  multitude  of  monks, 
women,  and  children,  depart  from  Europe  and  assemble  on  the 
plaiifs  of  Bythiiiia,  east  of  Constantinople.  Principal  leaders 
of  the  expedition,  Godfrey  of  B(julougne,  with  his  brothers 
Baldwin  and  Eustace;  Robert  II.  duke  of  Normandy;  Robert 
II.  coui\t  of  Flanders ;  Raymond  of  Toulouse ;  Hugh  of  Ver- 
mandois;  Stephen  de  Blois;  Bohemond,  Prince  of  Tarento. 
with  his  nephew  Tancred. 

1097.  Nice  taken  by  the  crusaders. 

1098.  Antioch  and  Edessa  taken. 

1099.  Jerusalem  taken — a  Christian  kmgdom,on  feudal  principles, 
established — the  crown  conferred  on  Godfrey  of  Boulougne. 

Interval  helween  the  First  and  Second  Crusades. — 1100-1147. 

Baldwin  I.  succeeds  his  brother  Godfrey  as  king  of  Jerusalem. 
A  new  army  of  crusaders  destroyed  by  the  Saracens  in  Asia  Minor, 
and  the  remnant  of  the  first  army  cut  to  pieces  at  Rama.  St.  Jean 
d'Acre,  (Plolemais,)  Berytus,  and  Sidon,  taken  by  Baldwin  U.,  suc- 
cessor of  Baldwin  I.  The  Christian  army  unsuccessful — Edessa 
taken  by  the  Turks  in  1144 — continued  ill  success  of  the  Chria- 
tiitis  leads  to  a  new  crusade. 

Second  Crusade. — 1147-1149.  Eugene  III.  Pope. 
Leaders  of  this  expedition,  Conrad  III.  en)peror  of  Germany,  and 
S.ouis  VII.  king  of  France,  who  set  out  separately  on  their  march. 
Both  armies  destroyed  in  Asia  Minor  by  famine  and  the  sword. — 
The  fugitives  assemble  at  Jerusalem.  Conrad,  Louis,  and  Baldwin 
III.  king  of  Jerusalem,  lay  siege  to  Damascus — the  enterprise  fails 
Uirough  the  quarrels  of  the  princes — Conrad  and  Louis  return  to 
Eujope. 

Interval  between  the  Second  and  Third  Crusades. — 1149-1189. 
Saladin  takes  possession  of  Egypt  and  founds  a  dynasty  in  1 175 


/90  GENERAL    IllSTORy    Ot 

Makes  war  upon  me  Christian  kingdom  of  Jerusalenn  ;  defeats  Guj 
of  Lusignan  ai  ti»e  battle  of  Tiberias;  Guy  taken  prisoner;  Si 
Jean  d'Acre  and  Jerusalem  taken.  Conrad  of  Monlferrat  lay 
claim  to  the  crown  of  Jerusalem,  and  rallies  the  remains  of  *ht 
Christian  forces  at  Tyre. 

Third  CrJisaJe.— 1189-1193.     Clement  III.  Pope. 

Leaders,  FredericK  I.,  (Barbarossa,)  emperor  of  Germany,  Philip 
A  jgustus,  king  of  France,  and  Richard  I.  of  England. 

Frederick  dejjarts  first  with  an  army  of  100,000  men,  which  ia 
eutirely  destroyed  in  Asia  Minor.  The  emperor  himself  dies  in 
Cilicia  1190.  His  son  Frederick  of  ouabia  afterwards  killed  at  St. 
Jean  d'Acre. 

1190.  The  kings  of  France  and  England  embark  by  sea,  and  pass 
the  winter  in  Sicily;  the  armies  embroiled  by  the  artifices  of 
Tancred,  usurping  king  uf  Jerusalem,  and  by  dissension  be 
tween  the  kings. 

1191.  The  armies  of  France  and  England,  with  the  Christian  puii- 
ces  of  Syria,  take  St.  Jean  d'Acre.  Philip  Augustus  returns  to 
France,  leaving  a  part  of  his  army  with  Richard — who  dis- 
plays his  bravery  in  some  useless  battles,  but  is  unable  to  le- 
gain  Jerusalem. 

1192.  Richard  concludes  a  truce  with  Saladin  and  returns  to  En 
rope. 

Third  Interval.— n'd2-\2Q2. 

Baladiu  diet; — his  dominions  divided  among  the  princes  of  hi-- 
fiimily. 

Fourth  Crusa</e.— 1202-1204.     Innocent  III.  Pope. 

Leaders,  Baldwin  IX.  count  of  Flanders;  Boniface  II.  marquit 
of  Montferrat;  Henry  Dandolo,  doge  of  Venice,  etc.  The  kingi 
of  Europe  could  not  be  aroused  to  engage  in  this  crusade,  notwith- 
standing all  the  urgency  of  the  Holy  See.  The  chief  command 
was  conferred  by  the  crusaders  on  Boniface  of  Montferrat.  Thii? 
expedition,  however,  never  reached  the  Holy  Land — but  engageil 
in  putting  down  a  usurpation  at  Constantinople,  which  finally  le-' 
to  the  taking  and  plundering  of  that  city  by  the  crusaders,  and  ih( 
division  of  the  empire  among  the  conquerors,  of  whom  Baldwin 
was  raised  to  the  imjierial  dignity.  Th«  French  etnpire  of  C  jh- 
»j''j)tinople  was  destroyed  in  1201  by  Michael  Paleologus 

Fourth  Interval— \2U-\2\1. 
Meantime  the  Christians  in  the  East,  though  despoiled  of  most 
o^  their  possessions,  and  weakened  by  divisions,  bravely  defended 
tiiymselves  againsi  the  sultans  of  Egypt.  They  coniinually  invokKJ 
iid  from  Europe;  but  more  powerful  interests  ai  home  niade  thf 
Kiuopean  princes  regardless  of  their  calls.  Only  those  of  i.iore  ex 
ailed  imaginations  could  bf*  influenced.  Th*:re  was  a  crusade  o' 
itliildren  in  1212. 


CtVILIZATION     IN     MODKRN     ELROPJ?. 


191 


Ftflh  Crusade.— \2\l-\22\.  Ilonorius  III.  Pope. 
Three  kings,  John  de  Brienne,  titular  king  of  Jerusalem,  An(lie"W 
fl.  king  of  lluiigary,  and  Hugh  of  Lusignan,  king  of  Cyprus, 
nnited  their  forces  at  St.  Jean  d'Acre.  The  king  of  Hungary  was 
noon  recalled  hy  troubles  at  home;  Hugh  of  Lusignan  died;  and 
John  de  Brienne  went  to  attack  Egypt  alone.  He  con(juered  Pa- 
fljietta,  and  would  have  obtained  the  restitution  of  Jerusalem  but 
•"or  the  obstinacy  of  the  Papal  legate,  who  forbade  any  truce  villi 
the  inlidels.  In  1221  the  crusaders,  after  many  reverses,  submitted 
to  an  humiliating  peace;  and  John  of  Brienne  returning  to  Europ*! 
^ave  his  daughter  in  iDarriage  to  Frederick  II.  emperor  of  (Jor- 
inany,  who  thereby  became  titular  king  of  Jerusalem. 

Fifth  Interval.— \22\-\22S. 

Nothing  remarkable  took  place  in  Syria. 

Sixth  Crusade.— 122?,-\22^.     Gregory  IX.  Pope. 

Lender,  Frederick  II.  This  emperor  had  taken  the  vows  of  the 
cross  hve  years  before,  and  though  anathematized  by  the  Pope,  had 
failed  to  fulfil  his  engagement.  At  length  he  set  out  by  invitation 
of  the  Sullan  Maledin,  who  yielded  Jerusalem  to  hiru  by  treaty 
witlmut  battle.  Frederick  was  desirous  to  he  crowned  king  of  Jc 
rusalem,  but  no  bishcp  dared  anoint  an  excommunicated  prince. 
Threatened  with  the  loss  of  his  Italian  dominions,  he  returned 
to  Europe. 

Sixth  Interval— \229-V2AS. 

Anarchy  throughout  the  East,  both  among  the  Christians  and 
Mohammedans.  Jerusalem,  after  being  taken  successively  by  seve- 
ral Saracen  chiefs,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Sultan  of  Egypt. 

Seventh  Crusade. — 1248-1254.  Innocent  IV.  Pope. 
Leaders,  St.  Louis  (IX.)  and  the  French  princes.  The  king  of 
France  engaged  in  this  crusade  in  consequence  of  a  vow  made  du- 
itng  a  dangerous  illness.  Most  of  the  princes  of  the  blood  and 
great  vassals  accompanied  him.  He  turned  his  arms  first  against 
Egypt  and  took  Damietta  in  1250;  but  his  army,  surprised  by  a 
sudden  rising  of  the  Nile,  and  carried  off  in  great  numbers  by  pes- 
tilence, was  surrounded  by  the  Mussulmen,  and  Louis  himself  with 
20,(100  of  his  army  was  made  prisoner.  He  obtained  his  liberty, 
hinvever,  by  payment  of  a  heavy  ransom  and  the  surrender  oi' Da- 
mietta. He  remained  four  years  in  Palestine,  repairing  the  fortifi- 
cations of  the  tov/ns  which  yet  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Chri* 
tians,  (Ptolemais,  Jaffa,  Sidon,  etc.,)  and  mediating  belween  the 
C  .ris'.ian  and  Mohammedan  princes. 

Seventh  hitcrval .—\25A-\2T2. 
The  Biongols,  who,  under  Gengis  Khan,  had  before  overrun  the 
greatest  part  of  Asia,  noAv  entered  Syria  under  his  son,  having 
ilrcady  destroyed  the  Califate  of  Bagdad  in  1258.     They  wore 


ly2  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVII.IZA  DON. 

iriven  from  Syria  by  the  sultan  of  Egypt,  Bibars,  by  whom  alHo 
Damascus,  Tyre,  Jaffa,  and  Antioch  were  seized. 

Eighth  Crusade.— 1270.  Clement  IV.  Pope. 
Leaders,  Louis  IX. ;  Charles  of  Anjou  ;  Edward,  prince  of  Eng- 
land, afterwards  Edward  I.  This  expedition  was  hrst  directed  to 
the  coast  of  Africa  ;  Louis  debarked  before  Tunis  and  laid  siege  to 
that  city:  but  the  army  was  cut  down  by  the  'blague,  to  wiiich 
Louis  himself  and  one  of  his  sons  fell  victims.  Charles  of  Anjou 
his  brother  made  peace  with  the  MohamniL-dj-ns  and  renounced 
the  expedition  to  the  Holy  Land.     Tbi*-  was  the  last  crusade 

End  of  the  Christian  power  in  Syria. — 1270-129L 
There  remained  now  but  four  places  in  the  possession  of  the 
Christians  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Mediterranean :  Tripoli ; 
Tyre;  Berytus;  and  St.  Jean  d'Acre.  These  successively  yielded 
to  the  Saracens,  the  last  in  1291.  The  various  orders  of  religious 
if  nights,  sworn  to  the  defence  of  the  Holy  Land,  withdrew  at  first 
to  the  Island  of  Cyprus.  In  1310,  the  Hosniiallers  established  them- 
selves at  Rhodes  ;  in  1312,  the  order  of  the  Templars  was  abolisn- 
ed?  in  1300,  the  Teutonic  knights  transferred  the  seat  of  th<ni 
jrder  to  Courland,  where  they  laid  the  foundation  of  a  doniiiii>B 
M^hicrt  continued  powerful  for  a  long  period. — See  Des  Mtchelt 
Hist,  du  Moyen  Age. 


LECTURE   IX 

OF    MONARCHY. 

I  BNDEAVOREii,  at  our  last  meeting,  to  determine  the  eescn* 
till  and  distinctive  character  of  modern  society  as  compared 
with  the  primi'ive  state  of  society  in  Europe  ;  and  I  believed 
I  had  foui\d  it  m  this  fact,  that  all  the  elements  of  the  social 
state,  at  first  numerous  and  various,  were  reduced  to  two — 
the  government  on  one  hand,  and  the  people  on  the  other. 
Instead  of  finding,  in  the  capacity  of  ruling  forces  and  chief 
agents  in  history,  the  clergy,  kings,  citizens,  husbandmen, 
and  serfs,  we  now  find  in  modern  Europe,  only  two  great  ob- 
jects which  occupy  the  historical  stage — the  government  and 
the  nation. 

If  such  is  the  fact  to  which  European  civilization  has  led, 
such,  also,  is  the  result  to  which  our  researches  should  con- 
duct us.  We  must  see  the  birth,  the  growth,  the  progressive 
establishment  of  this  great  result.  We  have  entered  upon  the 
period  to  which  we  can  trace  its  origin  :  it  was,  as  you  have 
seen,  between  the  twelfth  and  the  sixteenth  centuries  that 
those  slow  and  nidden  operations  took  place  which  brought 
society  into  this  new  form,  this  definite  state.  We  have  also 
considered  the  first  great  event  which,  in  my  opinion,  evident- 
ly had  a  powerful  efl^ect  in  impelling  Earope  into  this  road  j 
I  mean  the  crusades. 

About  the  same  period,  and  almost  at  the  very  time  when 
the  crusades  broke  out,  that  institution  began  to  increase, 
which  has  perhaps  chiefly  contributed  to  the  formation  of 
modern  society,  and  to  the  fusion  of  all  the  social  elements 
into  two  forces,  the  government  and  the  people.  This  insti- 
Ution  is  monarchy. 

It  is  evident  that  monarchy  has  played  a  vast  part  in  the 
Jiistory  of  European  civilization.  Of  this  we  may  convince 
ourseh  es  by  a  single  glance.      We  see  the  development  of 


194  0».NERAL    HISTORY    OV 

monarchy  pioceed,  for  a  considerable  time,  ai  the  same  rale 
as  that  of  society  ivself:  they  had  a  common  progression 
And  not  only  had  they  a  common  progression,  but  with  every 
step  tliat  society  made  towards  its  definitive  and  modern  char 
icter,  monarchy  seemed  to  increase  and  prosper ;  so  thai 
ivben  Jhs  work  was  consummated — wnen  there  remained,  in 
I  lie  greaf  states  of  Europe,  little  or  no  important  and  decisive 
ir.fluence  but  tbat  of  the  government  and  the  public — it  iRas 
monarchy  that  became  the  government. 

It  was  not  only  in  France,  where  tbe  fact  is  evident,  th^vt 
this  happened,  but  in  most  of  tbe  countries  of  Europe.  A 
little  sooner  oi  later,  and  under  forms  somewbat  diiferent,  the 
►  history  of  society  in  England,  Spain,  and  Germany,  offers  us 
the  same  result.  In  England,  for  example,  it  was  under  the 
Tudors  that  the  old  particular  and  local  elements  of  English 
society  were  dissolved  and  mingled,  and  gave  way  to  the  sys- 
tem of  public  authorities ;  this,  also,  was  the  period  when 
monarchy  had  the  greatest  influence.  It  was  the  same  hing 
in  Germany,  Spain,  and  all  the  great  European  states. 

If  we  leave  Europe,  and  cast  our  eyes  over  the  rest  of  the 
world,  we  shall  be  struck  with  an  analogous  fact.  Every- 
where we  shall  find  monarchy  holding  a  great  place,  and  ap- 
pearing as  the  most  general  and  permanent,  perhaps,  of  all 
institutions  ;  as  that  which  is  tlie  most  dilhcult  to  preclude 
where  it  does  not  exist,  and,  where  it  does  exist,  the  most 
difficult  to  extirpate.  From  time  innnemorial  it  has  had  pos- 
session of  Asia.  On  the  discovery  of  America,  all  the  great 
states  of  that  continent  were  found,  with  different  combina- 
tions, under  monarchical  governments.  When  we  penetrate 
into  the  interior  of  Africa,  wherever  we  meet  with  nations  of 
any  extent,  this  is  the  government  which  prevails.  And  nol 
only  has  monarchy  penetrated  everywhere,  but  it  has  accom 
modaied  itself  to  the  most  various  situations,  to  civilization 
Hnd  barbarism :  to  the  most  peaceful  manners,  as  in  China, 
Rnd  to  those  in  which  a  warlike  spirit  predominates.  It  has 
established  itself  not  only  in  the  midst  of  the  system  of  castes, 
ill  countries  whose  social  economy  exhibits  the  most  rigorous 
listinction  of  ranks,  but  also  in  the  midst  of  a  system  of  equal- 
i(y,  in  countries  where  society  is  most  remote  from  every  kina 
ijf  legal  and  permanent  classification.  In  sonie  places  de- 
<notic  and  oppressive ;  in  others  favorable  to  the  progress  of 
civilization  and  even  of  liberty  ;  i    is  like  a  head  lliat  may  bf 


civil  IZAT. ON     IN    MODERN    EUROPE  195 

j>liiced  on   nai.y  (liderert  bodies,  a  fruit  thai  may  gio  n  from 
ais'iy  (lifTerent  buds 

In  this  fact  we  might  discover  many  important  and  curioua 
consequences.  I  shall  take  only  two  ;  the  first  is,  that  such 
a  result  cannot  possibly  be  the  ofl'spring  of  mere  chance,  of 
force  or  usurpation  only  ;  that  there  must  necessarily  be,  be- 
tween the  nature  of  monarchy  considered  as  an  institution,  and 
Che  nature  either  of  man  as  an  individual  or  of  human  so- 
ciety, a  strong  and  intimate  anclogy.  Force,  no  doubt,  has 
had  its  share,  both  in  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  institu- 
tion ;  but  as  often  as  you  meet  with  a  result  like  this,  as  often 
as  you  see  a  great  event  develop  itself  or  recur  during  a  long 
series  of  ages,  and  in  the  midst  of  so  many  different  situations, 
never  ascribe  it  to  force.  Force  performs  a  great  and  daily 
part  in  human  affairs  ;  but  it  is  not  the  principle  which  governs 
their  movements  :  there  is  always,  superior  to  force,  and  the 
part  which  it  performs,  a  moral  cause  which  governs  the 
general  course  of  events.  Force,  in  the  history  of  society, 
resembles  the  body  in  the  history  of  man.  The  body  assur 
edly  holds  a  great  place  in  the  life  of  man,  but  is  not  the 
principle  of  life.  Life  circulates  in  it,  but  does  not  emanate 
from  it.  Such  is  also  the  case  in  human  society  ;  whatever 
part  force  may  play  in  them,  it  does  not  govern  them,  or  ex- 
ercise a  supreme  control  over  their  destinies  ;  this  is  the  pro- 
vince of  reason,  of  the  moral  influences  which  are  hidden 
ander  the  accidents  of  force,  and  regulate  the  course  of  so- 
ciety. We  may  unhesitatingly  declare  that  it  was  to  a  cause 
of  this  nature,  and  not  to  mere  force,  that  monarchy  was  in- 
debted for  its  success. 

A  second  fact  of  almost  equal  importance  is  the  flexibility 
of  monarchy,  and  its  faculty  of  modifying  itself  and  adapting 
Itself  to  a  variety  of  different  circumstances.  Observe  the 
contrast  which  it  presents  ;  its  form  reveals  unity,  permanence, 
simplicity.  It  does  not  exhibit  that  variety  of  combinationa 
which  are  found  in  other  institutions  ;  yet  it  accommodates  it- 
self to  the  most  dissimilar  states  of  society.  It  becomes  evi- 
dent then  ,hat  it  is  susceptible  of  grea'  iiversity,  an/l  capabl' 
of  being  attached  to  many  different  elements  and  principlcfe 
both  in  man  as  an  individual  and  in  society. 

It  is  because  we  have  not  considered  monarchy  in  all  its 
iXtent ;  because  we  have  not,  on   the  one     hand,  discovered 
13 


196  GENERAL    HISTORY    O? 

ihe  principle  which  forms  Iti  essence  and  subsists  unJer  evcrjr 
circumstance  to  which  it  maybe  applied  ;  and  because,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  have  not  taken  iruo  account  all  the  variations 
to  which  it  accommodates  itself,  and  all  the  principles  with 
v/hich  it  can  enter  into  alliance  ; — it  is,  I  say,  because  we 
hav'e  not  considered  monarchy  in  this  twofold,  this  enlarged 
point  of  view,  that  we  have  no  thoroughly  understood  the 
Dart  it  has  performed  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  have 
often  been  mistaken  as  to  its  nature  and  efi'ects. 

This  is  the  task  which  I  should  wish  to  undertake  with 
you,  so  as  to  obtain  a  complete  and  precipe  view  of  the  effects 
ol  this  institution  in  modern  Europe  ;  whether  they  have  flow- 
ed from  its  intrinsic  principle,  or  from  the  niodifications 
which  it  has  undergone. 


There  is  no  doubt  that  the  strength  of  monarchy,  that  moral 
power  which  is  its  true  principle,  does  not  reside  in  the  per- 
sonal will  of  the  man  who  for  the  time  happens  to  be  king; 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  people  in  accepting  it  as  an  insti- 
tution, that  philosophers  in  maintaining  it  as  a  system,  have 
not  meant  to  accept  the  empire  of  the  will  of  an  individual — 
a  will  essentially  arbitrary,  capricious,  and  ignorant. 

Monarchy  is  something  quite  different  from  the  will  of  an 
individual,  though  it  presents  itself  under  that  form.  It  is  the 
personification  of  legitimate  sovereignty — of  the  collective  will 
and  aggregate  wisdom  of  a  people— of  that  will  which  is  es- 
sentially reasonable,  enlightened,  just,  impartial, — which 
knows  naught  of  individual  wills,  though  by  the  title  of  legit- 
imate monarchy,  earned  by  these  conditions,  it  has  the  right 
to  govern  them.  Such  is  the  meaning  of  monarchy  as  un- 
derstood  by  the  people,  and  such  is  the  motive  of  their  adhe- 
sion to  it. 

Is  it  true  that  there  is  a  legitimate  sovereignty,  a  will  which 
has  a  right  to  govern  mankind?  They  certainly  believe  thai 
there  is  ;  for  they  endeavor,  have  always  endeavored,  and 
cannot  avoid  endeavoring,  to  place  themselves  under  its  em- 
pire. Conceive,  I  shaii  not  say  a  people,  but  the  smallest 
community  of  men  ;  conceive  it  in  subjection  to  a  sovereign 
who  is  such  only  de  facto,  to  a  power  which  has  no  othei 
rghi  but  that  of  force,  which  does  not  govern  by  the  title  of 
rt-aeon  and  justice  ;  human  nature  instantly  revolts  against  s 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODLRN     EUROPK  191 

sovereignty  such  as  this.  Human  nature,  therefore,  .nuslbc 
l.ieve  in  legitimate  sovereignty.  It  is  lliis  sovereignty  alone, 
lie  sovereignty  de  jure,  which  man  seeks  for,  and  which  alone 
111!  consents  to  obey.  What  is  history  but  a  demonstration  of 
llijg  universal  fact?  What  are  most  of  the  struggles  which 
luirass  the  lives  of  nations  but  so  many  determined  impulecfl 
towards  this  legitimate  sovereignty,  in  order  to  place  them- 
8cl\*s  under  its  empire  ?  And  it  is  not*  only  the  piople,  but 
philosophers,  vho  (irmly  believe  in  its  existence  and  inces- 
santly seek  it.  What  are  all  the  systems  of  political  philo 
sophy  but  attempts  to  discern  the  legitimate  sovereignty? 
What  is  the  object  of  their  investigations  but  to  discover  who 
has  the  right  to  govern  society  ?  Take  theocracy,  monarchy, 
aristocracy,  democracy  ;  they  all  boast  of  having  disc,  vered 
the  seat  of  legitimate  sovereignty  ;  they  all  promise  to  place 
society  under  the  authority  of  its  rightful  master.  This,  I  re- 
peat, is  the  object  of  all  the  labor  of  philosophers,  as  well  aa 
of  all  the  eflbrts  of  nations. 

How  can  philosophers  and  nations  do  otherwise  than  be- 
lieve in  this  legitimate  sovereignty  ?  How  can  they  do  other 
wise  than  strive  incessantly  to  discover  it  ?  Let  us  suppose 
the  simplest  case  ;  for  instance,  some  act  to  be  performed, 
either  affecting  society  in  general,  or  some  portion  of  itg  mem- 
bers, or  even  a  single  individual  ;  it  is  evident  that'in  such  a 
case  there  must  be  some  rule  of  action,  some  legitimate  will 
to  be  followed  and  applied.  Whether  we  enter  into  the  most 
miimte  details  of  social  life,  or  participate  in  its  most  moment- 
ous concerns,  we  shall  always  meet  with  a  truth  to  be  dis 
covered,  a  law  of  reason  to  be  applied  to  the  realities  of  hu- 
man affairs.  It  is  this  law  which  constitutes  that  legitimate 
sovereignty  towards  which  both  philosophers  and  nations  have 
never  ceased,  and  can  never  cease,  to  aspire. 

But  how  far  can  legitimate  sovereignty  be  represented, 
generally  and  permanently,  by  an  earthly  power,  by  a  human 
will  ^  Is  there  anything  necessarily  false  and  dangerous  iu 
8ucl  an  assumption?  What  are  we  to  think  in  particular  of 
he  personification  of  legitimate  sovereignty  under  the  image 
of  royalty  ?  On  what  conditions,  and  within  what  limits,  is 
this  personification  admissible  ?  These  are  great  questions, 
which  it  is  not  my  business  now  to  discuss,  but  which  I  can 
not  avoid  noticing,  and  on  which  1  shall  say  a  few  words  ir 
passing 


198  GENERAL    HIS  TORT    OF 

1  affirm,  and  the  plainest  common  sense  must  admit,  thul 
legitimate  sovereignty,  in  'ts  complete  and  permanent  form, 
cannot  belong  to  uny  one  ;  and  that  every  attribution  of  legiti- 
mate sovereignty  to  any  human  power  whatever  is  radically 
false  and  dangerous.  Thence  arises  the  necessity  of 'he  liini 
lation  of  every  power,  whatever  may  be  its  name  or  form ; 
thence  arises  the  radical  illegitimacy  of  every  sort  of  abso- 
lute power,  whatever  may  be  its  origin,  whether  conquest,  in- 
heritance, or  election.  We  may  diiler  as  to  the  best  means 
of  finding  the  legitimate  sovereignty  ;  they  vary  according  to 
the  diversities  of  place  and  time  ;  but  there  is  no  place  or  time 
at  which  any  power  can  legitimately  be  the  independent  po.s- 
sessor  of  this  sovereignty. 

This  principle  being  laid  down,  it  is  equally  certain  tha» 
monarchy,  under  whatever  system  we  consider  it,  presents 
itself  as  the  personification  of  the  legitimate  sovereignty 
Listen  to  the  supporters  of  theocracy  ;  they  will  tell  you  that 
nings  are  the  image  of  God  upon  earth,  which  means  nothing 
more  than  that  they  are  the  personification  of  supreme  justice, 
truth,  and  goodness.  Turn  to  the  jurists ;  they  will  tell  you 
that  the  king  is  the  living  law  ;  which  means,  again,  that  the 
king  is  the  personification  of  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  of 
that  law  of  justice  which  is  entitled  to  govern  society.  Inter- 
rogate monarchy  itself  in  its  pure  and  unmixed  form ;  it  will 
tell  you  that  it  is  the  personification  of  the  state,  of  the  coin  ■ 
monweallh.  In  whatever  combination,  in  whatever  situation 
monarchy  is  considered,  you  will  find  that  it  is  always  held 
out  as  representing  this  legitimate  sovereignty,  this  power, 
which  alone  is  capable  of  lawfully  governing  society. 

We  need  not  be  surprised  at  this.  What  are  the  charac- 
teristics of  this  legitimate  sovereignty,  and  which  are  derived 
from  its  very  nature  ?  In  the  first  place,  it  is  single  ;  since 
there  is  but  one  'ruth,  one  justice,  so  there  can  be  but  one  le- 
gitimate sovereignty.  It  is,  moreover,  permanent,  and  alwaye 
the  same,  for  truth  is  unchangeable.  It  stands  on  a  high  van- 
^ge-ground,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  vicissitudes  and  chancee 
•)f  this  world,  with  which  it  is  only  connected  in  the  charac- 
ter, as  it  wore,  of  a  spectator  and  a  judge.  Well,  then,  these 
being  the  rational  and  natural  characteristics  of  the  legitimate 
sovereignty,  it  is  monarcny  which  exhibits  them  under  tlu' 
niuet  palpable  form,  and  aeems  to  be  their  most  faithful  image 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN     EUROPE  1  Ofi 

Consult  the  work  in  which  M.  Benjamin  Constant  has  so  in- 
geniously represented  monarchy,  as  a  neutral  and  moderating 
power,  raised  far  above  the  struggles  and  casualties  of  society 
and  never  interfering  but  in  great  and  critical  conjunctures 
la  not  this,  so  to  speak,  the  attitude  of  the  legitimate  sove^ 
reignty,  in  the  government  of  human  affairs  1  There  must  be 
something  in  this  idea  peculiarly  calculated  to  strike  the  mind, 
for  it  has  passed,  with  singular  rapidity,  from  books  into  the 
actiial  conduct  of  afiairs.  A  sovereign  has  made  it,  in  the 
constitution  of  Brazil,  the  very  basis  of  his  throne.  In  that 
constitution,  monarchy  is  represented  as  a  moderating  pow- 
er, elevated  above  the  active  powers  of  the  state,  like  their 
spectator  and  their  judge. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view  you  consider  moiiarcby, 
when  you  compare  it  with  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  you  will 
find  a  great  outward  resemblance  between  them — a  resem- 
blance with  which  the  human  mind  must  necessarily  have 
been  struck.  Whenever  the  reflection  or  the  imagination 
of  men  has  especially  turned  towards  the  contemplation  or 
study  of  legitimate  sovereignty,  and  of  its  essential  qualities, 
it  has  inclined  towards  monarchy.  Thus  in  the  times  when 
religious  ideas  preponderated,  the  habitual  contemplation  of 
the  nature  of  God  impelled  mankind  towards  the  monarchical 
system.  In  the  same  manner,  when  the  influence  of  jurists 
prevailed  in  society,  the  habit  of  studying,  under  the  name  of 
law,  the  nature  of  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  was  favorable 
to  the  dogma  of  its  personification  in  the  institution  of  monar- 
chy. The  attentive  application  of  the  human  mind  to  the 
contemplation  of  the  nature  and  qualities  of  the  legitimate 
sovereignty,  when  there  were  no  other  causes  to  destroy  its 
efiect,  has  always  given  strength  and  consideration  to  mon- 
archy, as  being  its  image 

There  are,  too,  certain  junctures,  which  are  particularly 
favorable  to  this  personification  ;  such,  for  example,  as  w^hen 
individual  forces  display  themselves  in  the  world  with  all  their 
uncertainties  ;  all  their  waywardness  ;  when  selfishness  pro- 
dominates  in  individuals,  either  through  ignorance  and  bru- 
tality, or  through  corruption.  At  such  times,  society,  distract- 
ed by  the  conflict  of  individual  wills,  and  unable  to  attain,  by 
their  free  concurrence,  to  a  general  will,  which  might  hold 
ihem  in  subjection,  ferils  an  ardent  desire  for  a  sovereign  pow- 
or,  to  which  all  individuals  must  submit ;  and,  as  soon  as  anj 
institution  presents  itself  which  bears  any  of  the  characteris 


800  GENERAL    HISTORY    OK 

lies  of  legitimate  sovereigi  ty,  society  rallies  round  il  with 
eagerness;  as  people,  under  proscription,  take  refuge  in  the 
sanctuary  of  a  church.  This  is  what  has  taken  place  in  the 
wild  and  disorderly  youth  of  nations,  such  as  those  we  havo 
passed  through.  Monarchy  is  wonderfully  suited  to  those 
times  of  strong  and  fruitful  anarchy,  if  1  may  so  speak,  in 
which  society  is  striving  to  form  and  regulate  itself,  but  is  un 
able  to  do  so  by  the  free  concurrence  of  individual  wills 
There  are  other  times  when  monarchy,  though  from  a  con- 
trary cause,  has  the  same  merit.  Why  did  the  Roman  world, 
so  near  dissolution  at  the  end  of  the  republic,  still  subsist  for 
more  than  fifteen  centuries,  under  the  name  of  an  enipire, 
which,  after  all,  was  nothing  but  a  lingering  decay,  a  protract- 
ed death-struggle  ?  Monarchy,  alone,  could  produce  such  an 
effect ;  monarchy,  alone,  could  maintain  a  state  of  society 
which  the  spirit  of  selfishness  incessantly  tended  to  destroy. 
The  imperial  power  contended  for  fifteen  centuries  against  the 
ruin  of  the  Roman  world. 

It  thus  appears  that  there  are  times  when  monarchy,  alone, 
can  retard  the  dissolution,  and  times  when  it,  alone,  can  ac- 
celerate the  formation  of  society.  And  il'is,  in  both  cases 
because  it  represents,  more  clearly  than  any  other  form  of 
government  can  do,  the  legitimate  sovereignty,  that  it  exer 
cises  this  power  over  the  course  of  events. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view  you  consider  this  institution, 
and  at  whatever  period  you  take  it,  you  will  find,  therefore, 
that  its  essential  character,  its  moral  principle,  its  true  mean- 
ing, the  cause  of  its  strength,  is,  its  being  the  image,  the  per 
sonification,  the  presumed  interpreter,  of  that  single,  superior, 
and  essentially  legitimate  will,  which  alone  has  a  right  to 
l^overn  society. 

Let  us  now  consider  monarchy  under  the  second  point  of 
view,  that  is  to  say,  in  its  flexibility,  the  variety  of  parts  it 
nas  performed  and  of  effects  it  has  produced.  Let  us  en- 
deavor to  account  for  this  character,  and  ascertain  its  causes. 

Here  we  have  an  advantage  ;  we  can  at  once  return  to  his- 
tory, and  to  the  history  of  our  own  country.  By  a  concur- 
lence  oi  singular  circumstances,  monarchy  in  modern  Europe 
lias  but  one  very  chjracter  which  it  has  ever  exhibited  in  the 
history  of  the  worlii      European  monarchy  nas  been,  in  aomf 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPK. 


201 


«ort,  the  result  of  all  the  possible  kinds  of  monarchy.  In 
imning  over  its  history,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century, 
you  will  see  the  variety  of  aspects  under  which  it  appears, 
ind  the  extent  to  which  we  everywhere  find  that  variety,  com- 
plication, and  contention,  which  characterize  the  whole  course 
of  European  civilization. 

In  the  fifth  century,  at  the  time  of  the  great  invasion  of  the 
GMnians,  two  monarchies  were  in  existence — the  barbarian 
monarchy  of  Clovis,  and  the  imperial  monarchy  of  Constan- 
tine.  They  were  very  different  from  each  other  in  principles 
and  effects. 

The  barbarian  monarchy  was  essentially  elective.  The 
German  kings  were  elected,  though  their  election  did  not  take 
place  in  the  form  to  which  we  are  accustomed  to  attach  that 
idea.  They  were  military  chiefs,  whose  power  was  freely 
accepted  by  a  great  number  of  their  companions,  by  whom 
they  were  obeyed  as  being  the  bravest  and  most  competent  to 
rule.  Election  was  the  true  source  of  this  barbarian  monar- 
chy, its  primitive  and  essential  character. 

It  is  true  that  this  character,  in  the  fifth  century,  was  al 
ready  somewhat  modified,  and  that  different  elements  were 
introduced  into  monarchy.  Different  tribes  had  possessed 
their  chiefs  for  a  certain  space  of  time ;  families  had  arisen, 
more  considerable  and  wealthier  than  the  rest.  This  produced 
the  beginning  of  hereditary  succession ;  the  chief  being  al- 
most always  chosen  from  these  families.  This  was  the  first 
principle  of  a  different  nature  which  became  associated  with 
the  leading  principle  of  election. 

Another  element  had  already  entered  into  the  institution  of 
barlmrici.i  monarchy — I  mean  the  element  of  religion.  We 
find  among  some  of  the  barbarian  tribes — the  Goths,  for  ex- 
ample— the  conviction  that  the  families  of  their  kings  were 
descended  from  the  families  of  their  gods  or  of  their  deified 
hero?  s,  such  as  Odin.  This,  too,  was  the  case  with  Homer's 
nionarchs,  who  were  the  issue  of  gods  or  demi-gods,  and,  by 
ihis  title,  objects  of  religious  veneration,  notwithstanding  the 

imited  extent  of  their  power. 
Such   was   the   barbarian  monarchy  of  the   fifth  century, 

nhos(!   primitive  principle   still    predominated,  though  it  ka^ 

leelf  grown  diversified  and  wavering. 


202  GENERAL    HISTORY    OP 

I  now  lake  the  monarchy  of  the  Roman  empire,  the  p/in 
ciple  of  which  was  totally  differenl  It  was  tho  persoi.ifioi 
rion  of  the  state,  the  heir  of  the  sovereignty  and  majesty  of 
the  Roman  people.  Consider  the  monarchy  of  Augustus  ;il 
Tiberius  :  the  emperor  was  the  representative  of  the  senate  ] 
the  assemblies  of  the  people,  the  whole  republic. 

Was  not  this  evident  from  the  modest  language  of  the  firaJ 
emperors — of  such  of  them,  at  least,  as  were  men  of  sense 
and  understood  their  situation  ?  They  felt  that  tliey  stood  in 
the  presence  of  the  people,  who  themselves  had  lately  pos- 
sessed the  sovereign  power,  which  they  had  abdicated  in  theii 
favor ;  and  addressed  the  people  as  their  representatives  and 
ministers.  But  in  reality  they  exercised  all  the  power  of  the 
people,  and  that,  too,  in  its  most  exaggerated  and  fearful  form. 
Such  a  transformation  it  is  easy  for  us  to  comprehend  ;  we 
have  witnessed  it  ourselves  ;  we  have  seen  the  sovereign- 
ty transferred  from  the  people  to  the  person  of  a  single  indi- 
Fidual ;  this  was  the  history  of  Napoleon.  He  also  was  a 
personification  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  ;  and  con- 
stantly expressed  himself  to  that  effect.  "  Who  has  been 
elected,"  he  said,  "  like  me,  by  eighteen  millions  of  men  ? 
who  is,  like  me,  the  representative  of  the  people  ?"  and  when, 
upon  his  coins,  we  read  on  one  side  Republique  Frun9aise, 
and  on  the  other  Napoleon  Empercur,  what  is  this  but  an  ex- 
ample of  the  fact  which  I  am  describing,  of  the  people  having 
become  the  monarch  ? 

Such  was  the  fundamental  character  of  the  imperial  mo- 
narchy ;  it  preserved  this  character  during  the  three  first  cen 
turies  Of  the  empire  ;  and  it  was,  indeed,  only  under  Diocle- 
tian that  it  assumed  its  complete  and  definitive  form.  It  was 
then,  however,  on  the  eve  of  undergoing  a  great  change ;  a 
new  kind  of  monarchy  was  about  to  appear.  During  three 
centuries  Christianity  had  been  endeavoring  to  introduce  into 
the  empiie  the  element  of  religion.  It  was  under  Constau- 
tine  that  Christianity  succeeded,  not  in  making  religion  the 
prevailing  element,  but  in  giving  it  a  prominent  part  to  per- 
form. Monarchy  here  presents  itself  under  a  diflierent  aspect  j 
it  in  not  of  earthly  origin  :  the  prince  is  not  the  representa- 
Mve  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  public ;  he  is  the  image,  the 
repicsentative,  the  delegate  of  Gad.  Power  descends  to  him 
from  on  high  while,  in  the  imperial  monarchy,  power  had  as. 
oriidcd  from  belort-.     These  wer^  .otally  diflerent  situations 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  203 

«ith  tola'ly  dirierent  results.  The  rights  of  freedom  and  po 
itical  securities  are  dlHicult  to  combine  with  the  principle  o( 
religious  monarchy  ;  but  the  principle  itself  is  high,  moral, 
wild  salutary.  I  shall  show  you  the  idea  which  was  formed 
of  the  prince,  in  the  seventh  century,  under  the  system  of  re- 
ligious nionarchy.  I  take  it  from  the  canons  of  the  Council 
of  Toledo. 

"  The  king  is  called  rex  because  he  governs  with  justice 
If  he  acts  justly  (recte)  he  has  a  legitimate  title  to  the  name 
of  king  ;  if  he  acts  unjustly,  he  loses  all  claim  to  it.  Our 
fathers,  therefore,  said  with  reason,  rex  ejus  oris  si  recta  facts ; 
si  autcrn  nnn  facis,  non  eris.  The  two  principal  virtues  of  a 
king  are  justice  and  truth,  (the  science  of  truth,  reason.) 

"  The  depositary  of  the  royal  power,  no  less  than  the  whole 
body  of  ihe  people,  is  bound  to  respect  the  laws.  While  we 
obey  the  will  of  heaven,  we  make  for  ourselves,  as  well  as 
our  subjects,  wise  laws,  obedience  to  which  is  obligatory  on 
curselves  and  our  successors,  as  well  as  upon  all  the  popula- 
tion of  our  kingdom.         ••*••• 

'•  God,  the  creator  of  all  things,  in  constructing  the  human 
body,  has  raised  the  head  aloft,  and  has  willed  that  from  it 
should  proceed  the  nerves  of  all  the  members,  and  he  has 
placed  in  the  head  the  torches  of  the  eyes,  in  order  to  throw 
light  upon  every  dangerous  object.  In  like  manner  he  has 
established  the  power  of  intelligence,  giving  it  the  charge  of 
governing  all  the  members,  and  of  prudently  regulating  their 
action.    °      .•••*••*         • 

"  It  is  necessary  then  to  regulate,  first  of  all,  those  things 
which  relate  to  princes,  to  provide  for  their  safety,  and  protect 
their  life,  and  then  those  things  which  concern  the  people,  in 
such  a  manner,  that  in  properly  securing  the  safety  of  kings, 
that  of  the  people  may  be,  at  the  same  time,  and  so  much  the 
more  efl'ectually,  secured."* 

But,  in  the  system  of  religious  monarchy,  thore  is  almost 
always  another  element  introduced  besides  monarchy  itself 
A  new  power  takes  its  place  by  its  side  ;  a  power  nearer  to 
God,  the  source  whence  monarchy  emanates,  than  monarchy 
itself  This  is  the  clergy,  the  ecclesiastical  power  which 
interposes  between  God  and  kings,  and  between  kings  and 
)o^le,  in  such  sort,  that  monarchy,  though  the  image  of  the 

ivinity,  runs  the  hazard  of  falling  to  the  rank  of  an  instru 

*  Forum  judicum,  tit.  i.  1.  2 ;  tit.  i.  1.  2. 1.  4. 


K 


lOi  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

rnenl  in  ihe  hands  of  the  human  interpreters  jf  the  Divin* 
will.  This  is  a  new  cause  of  diversity  in  the  destinies  and 
efiects  of  the  institution. 

The  diiTerent  kinds  of  monarchy,  then,  which,  in  the  fiftd 
century,  mu'le  their  appearance  on  the  ruins  of  the  RomaJQ 
empire,  were,  the  barbarian  monarchy,  the  imperial  monarchy, 
ftnd  religious  monarchy  in  its  infancy.  Their  fortunes  were 
as  difTerenl  as  their  principles. 

In  France,  under  the  first  race,  barbarian  monarchy  pre 
vailed.  There  were,  indeed,  some  attempts  on  the  part  of 
the  clergy  to  impress  upon  it  the  imperia)  or  religious  char 
acter ;  but  the  system  of  election,  in  tlie  royal  family,  with 
some  mixture  of  inheritance  and  of  religiouj  notions,  remained 
predominant. 

In  Italy,  among  the  Ostrogoths,  the  imperial  monarchy 
overcame  the  barbarous  customs.  Theodoric  considered 
himself  as  successor  of  the  emperors.  It  is  sufficient  to  read 
Cassiodorus  to  perceive  that  this  was  the  character  of  his 
govenmient. 

In  Spain,  monarchy  appeared  more  religious  than  else- 
where. As  the  councils  of  Toledo,  though  I  shall  not  call 
them  absolute,  were  the  influencing  power,  tlie  religious 
character  predominated,  if  not  in  the  govt^rnment,  properly  so 
called,  of  the  Visigotliic  kings,  at  least  in  the  laws  which 
the  clergy  suggested  to  them,  and  tlie  language  they  made 
them  speak. 

^n  England,  among  the  Saxons,  manners  remained  almost 
wholly  barbarous.  The  kingdoms  of  the  heptarchy  were 
little  else  than  the  territories  of  difierent  bands,  every  one 
having  its  chief.  Military  election  appears  more  evidently 
among  them  than  anywhere  else.  The  Anglo-Saxon  mon- 
archy is  the  most  faithful  type  of  the  barbarian  monarchy. 

Thus,  from  the  fifth  to  the  seventh  century,  at  the  same 
nme  that  all  these  three  sorts  of  monarchy  manifested  them- 
selves in  general  facts,  one  or  other  of  them  prevailed,  accord- 
ing to  circumstances,  in  the  different  states  of  Europe. 

Such  was  the  prevailing  confusion  at  this  period,  thai 
rxjlhir.g  of  a  general  or  permanent  nature  could  be  established  • 
Rnd,  from  vicissitude  to  vicissitude,  we  arrive  at  the  eighth 
jcntury  without  finding  that  monarcl  y  has  anywhere  assuma*^ 
1  definitive  character. 


CIVILIZATION    IX    MODERN     EUROPE.  205 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century,  and  with  ihc 
jinmph  of  the  second  race  of  the  F'rank  kings,  events  assume 
\  nmre  general  character,  and  become  clearer ;  as  they  were 
transacted  on  a  larger  scale,  they  can  be  better  understood 
and  have  more  evident  results.  The  difTcrent  kinds  of  mon- 
arcliy  were  shortly  destined  to  succeed  and  combine  with  one 
anothei  in  a  very  striking  manner. 

At  the  lime  when  the  Carlovingians  replaced  the  Merovin- 
gims,  we  perceive  a  return  of  the  barbarian  monarchy. 
Election  re-appe^rcd  ;  Pepin  got  himself  elected  at  Soissons. 
IVhen  the  first  Carlovingians  gave  kingdoms  to  their  jons, 
they  took  care  that  they  should  be  acknowledged  by  the  chief 
men  of  the  states  assigned  to  them.  When  they  divided  b 
kingdoni,  they  desired  that  the  partition  should  be  sanctioned 
in  the  national  assemblies.  In  short,  the  elective  principle, 
under  the  form  of  popular  acceptance,  again  assumed  a  cer- 
tain reality.  You  remember  that  this  change  of  dynasty  was 
like  a  new  inroad  of  the  Germans  into  the  west  of  Europe, 
and  brought  back  some  shadow  of  their  ancient  institutions 
tnd  manners. 

At  the  same  time,  we  see  the  religious  principle  more 
clearly  introducing  itself  into  monarchy,  and  performing  a  part 
of  greater  importance.  Pepin  was  acknowledged  and  conse- 
crated by  the  pope.  He  felt  that  he  stood  in  need  of  the 
sanction  of  religion ;  it  was  already  become  a  great  power, 
and  he  sought  its  assistance.  Charlemagne  adopted  the  same 
policy ;  and  religious  monarchy  thus  developed  itself.  Still, 
however,  under  Charlemagne,  religion  was  not  the  prevailing 
character  of  his  government ;  the  imperial  system  of  monarchy 
was  that  which  he  wished  to  revive.  Although  he  allied  him- 
self closely  with  the  clergy,  he  made  use  of  them,  and  was 
not  their  instrument.  The  idea  of  a  great  state,  of  a  great 
political  combination, — the  resurrection,  in  short,  of  the  Ro- 
man empire,  was  the  favorite  day-dream  of  Charlemagne. 

He  died,  and  was  succeeded  by  Louis  le  Debonnaire. 
Everybody  knows  the  character  to  which  the  royal  power 
was  then,  for  a  short  time,  reduced.  The  king  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  clergy,  who  censured,  deposed,  re-instated,  and 
governed  him ;  a  monarchy  subordinate  to  religious  authority 
wemed  on  the  point  of  being  established. 

Thus,  from  the  middle  of  the  eighth  to  the  middle  of  thf 
ninth  century,  the  diversity  of  the  three  kinds  of   monarchy 


iOQ  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

became  manifested  by  events  important,  closely  conrocted 
and  clear. 

After  the  death  of  Louis  le  Debonnaire,  during  the  state  (A 
disorder  into  which  Europe  fell,  the  three  kinds  of  nionf.rchT 
almost  equally  disappeared  :  everything  became  confoundao. 
At  the  end  of  a  certain  time,  when  the  feudal  system  had  pre- 
vailed, a  fourth  kind  of  monarchy  presented  itself,  diOeriuk! 
from  all  those  which  had  been  hitherto  observe^  :  this  wai* 
feudal  monarchy.  It  is  confused  in  its  nature,  and  canno- 
easily  be  defined.  It  has  been  said  that  tie  king,  in  the  feu- 
dal system  of  government,  was  the  suzerain  over  suzercins, 
the  lord  over  lords  ;  that  he  was  connected  by  fii.n  links,  from 
degree  to  degree,  with  the  whole  frame  of  society  ;  and  that, 
in  calling  around  him  his  ov/n  vassals,  then  the  vassals  of  his 
vassals,  and  so  on  in  gradation,  lie  exercised  his  authority 
over  the  whole  mass  of  the  people,  and  showed  himself  to  be 
really  a  king.  I  do  not  deny  that  this  is  the  theory  of  feudal 
monarchy  :  but  it  is  a  mere  theory,  which  has  never  governed 
facts.  This  pretended  influence  of  the  king  by  means  of  a 
hierarchical  organization,  these  links  which  are  supposed  to 
have  united  monarchy  to  the  whole  body  of  feudal  society, 
are  the  dreams  of  speculative  politicians.  In  fact,  the  greates/ 
part  of  the  feudal  chieftains  at  that  period  were  completely  in- 
dependent of  the  monarchy  ;  many  of  them  hardly  knew  it  even 
by  name,  and  had  few  or  no  relations  with  it :  every  kind  of 
sovereignty  was  local  and  independent.  The  name  of  king, 
borne  by  one  of  these  feudal  chiefs,  does  not  so  much  expres.s 
a  fact  as  a  remembrance. 

Such  is  the  state  in  which  monarchy  presents  itself  in  the 
course  of  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries. 

In  the  twelfth,  at  the  accession  of  Louis  le  Gros,  things 
began  to  change  their  aspect.^-  The  king  was  more  fre 
quently  spoken  of;  his  induence  penetrated  into  places  which 
it  had  not  previously  reached  ;  he  assumed  a  more  active  pan 
in  society.  If  we  inquire  into  this  title,  we  recognise  none 
f)(  those  titles  of  which  monarchy  had  previously  been  accus- 
romed  to  avail  itself.  It  was  not  by  inheritance  from  the 
impel ors,  or  by  the  title  of  imperial  monarchy,  that  this  insti 
'ution   aggrandized    itself,  and    assumed    more    consi:^tency 

3-  Louis  the  Fat  came  to  the  throne  llOS. 


CIVILIZAIION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  20? 

Neither  war?  it  in  virtue  of  election,  or  as  being  an  emanation 
from  divine  power :  every  appearance  of  election  had  vanished , 
the  principle  of  inheritance  definitively  prevailed  ;  and  nolwith* 
standing  the  sanction  given  by  religion  to  the  accession  of 
kings,  the  tninds  of  men  did  not  appear  to  be  at  all  occupiod 
with  the  religions  character  of  the  monarchy  of  Louis  le 
Gros.  A  new  element,  a  character  hitherto  unknown,  wa? 
introduced  into  monarchy  ;  a  new  species  of  monarchy  began 
\o  exist. 

Society,  T  need  hardly  repeat,  was  at  this  period  in  very 
great  di?order,  and  subject  to  constant  scenes  of  violence. 
Society,  in  itself,  was  destitute  of  means  to  struggle  against 
this  situation,  and  to  recover  some  degree  of  order  and  unity 
The  feudal  institutions, — those  parliaments  of  barons,  those 
seignorial  courts, — all  those  forms  under  which,  in  modern 
times,  feudalism  has  been  represented  as  a  systematic  and 
orderly  state  of  government, — all  these  things  were  unreal 
and  powerless  ;  there  was  nothing  in  them  which  could  afTord 
the  means  of  establisliing  any  degree  of  order  or  justice  ;  so 
that,  in  the  midst  of  social  anarchy,  no  one  knew  to  whom 
recourse  could  be  had,  in  order  to  redress  a  great  injustice, 
remedy  a  great  evil,  to  constitute  something  like  a  state.  The 
name  of  king  remained,  and  was  borne  by  some  chief  whose 
authority  was  acknowledged  by  a  few  others.  The  difTer- 
ent  titles,  however,  under  which  the  royal  power  had  been 
formerly  exercised,  though  they  had  no  great  influence,  yet 
were  far  from  being  forgotten,  and  were  recalled  on  various 
occasions.  It  happened  that,  in  order  to  re-establish  some 
degree  of  order  in  a  place  near  the  king's  residence,  or  to 
terminate  some  diflerence  which  had  lasted  a  long  time,  re- 
course was  had  to  him  ;  he  was  called  upon  to  intervene  in 
affairs  which  were  not  directly  his  own  ;  and  he  intervened 
as  a  protector  of  public  order,  as  arbitrator,  as  redrosser  of 
wrongs.  The  moral  authority  which  continued  to  be  attach- 
ed to  his  name  gained  for  him,  by  little  and  little,  this  great 
iccession  of  power. 

Puch  was  the  chaiacter  which  monarchy  began  to  assume: 
order  Louis  le  Gros,  and  under  the  administration  of  Suger. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  seems  to  have  entered  the  minds  of 
i/ien  the  idea,  though  very  incomplete,  confused,  and  feeble 
of  a  public  power,  unconnected  with  the  local  powers  which 
had  possession  of  society,  called  upon  to  render  justice  tc 


i08  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

it.osc  who  could  not  obtain  it  by  ordinary  means,  and  capabk 
of  producing,  or  at  least  commanding,  order ; — the  idea  of  u 
gre'at  magistracy,  whose  essential*  character  was  to  maintaii 
or  re-establish  the  peace  of  society,  to  protect  the  weak,  and 
to  decide  diflerences  which  could  not  be  otherwise  settled. 
Such  was  the  eiitirely  new  character,  in  which,  reckoning 
horn  the  twelfth  century,  monarchy  appeared  in  Europe,  and 
especially  in  France.  It  was  neither  as  barbarian  monarchy, 
as  religious  monarchy,  nor  as  imperial  monarchy,  that  the 
royal  power  was  exercised;  this  kind  of  monarchy  possessed 
only  a  limited,  incomplete,  and  fortuitous  power  ; — a  power 
which  1  cannot  more  precisely  describe  than  by  saying  that 
it  was,  in  some  sort,  that  of  the  chief  conservator  of  tlie  pub- 
lic peace. 

This  is  the  true  origin  of  modern  monarchy  ;  this  is  its  vital 
principle,  if  1  may  so  speak  ;  it  is  this  which  has  been  de- 
veloped in  the  course  of  its  career,  and,  I  have  no  hesitation 
in  saying,  has  ensured  its  success.  At  different  periods  of 
history  we  observe  the  re-appearance  of  the  various  charac- 
ters of  monarchy ;  we  see  the  different  kinds  of  monarchy 
which  I  have  described,  endeavoring,  by  turns,  to  recover  the 
preponderance.  Thus,  the  clergy  have  always  preached  re- 
ligious monarchy ;  the  civilians  have  labored  to  revive  the 
oriiiciple  of  imperial  monarchy  ;  the  nobility  would  sometimes 
have  wished  to  renew  elective  monarchy,  or  maintain  feu- 
dal monarchy.  And  not  only  have  the  clergy,  the  civilians, 
and  the  nobility,  attempted  to  give  such  or  such  a  character  a 
predominance  in  the  monarchy,  but  monarchy  itself  has  made 
them  all  contribute  towards  the  aggrandizement  of  its  own 
power.  Kings  have  represented  themselves  sometimes  as  the 
delegates  of  God,  sometimes  as  the  heirs  of  the  emperors,  or 
as  the  first  noblemen  of  the  land,  according  to  the  occasion  oi 
public  wish  of  the  moment ;  they  have  illegitimately  availed 
themselves  of  tliese  various  titles,  but  none  of  them  has  been 
the  real  title  of  modern  monarchy,  or  the  source  of  its  pre- 
ponderating influence.  It  is,  I  repeat,  as  depositary  and  pro- 
lector  of  public  order,  of  general  justice,  and  of  the  common 
interest, — it  is  under  the  aspect  of  a  chief  magistracy,  the 
conf-e  and  bond  of  society,  that  modern  monarchy  has  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  people,  and,  in  obtaining  their  adhesion 
has  made  their  strength  its  own. 

You    will  see,   as  we   proceed,  this  characteristic  of   lh< 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  209 

monarchy  of  moJern  Europe,  which  began,  I  repeat,  in  tlie 
iwelfth  century,  .iud  in  tlie  reign  of  Louis  le  Gros,  confirm 
and  develop  itself,  and  become  at  length,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
the  political  jihysiogiiomy  of  the  institution.  It  is  by  this  tha« 
monarchy  has  contributed  to  the  great  result  which  now  cha- 
•acferizes  European  society,  the  reduction  of  all  the  social 
elements  to  two — the  government  and  the  nation. 

Thus  it  appears,  that,  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  crusades, 
Europe  entered  upon  the  path  which  was  to  conduct  her  lo 
l.er  present  state  :  you  have  just  seen  monarchy  assume  the 
important  part  which  it  was  destined  to  perform  in  this  great 
transformation.  We  shall  consider,  at  our  next  meeting,  the 
diderent  attempts  at  political  organization,  made  from  the 
twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  in  order  to  maintain,  by  regu- 
lating it,  the  order  of  things  that  was  about  to  perish.  We 
shall  co.isider  the  eflorts  of  feudalism,  of  the  Church,  and 
even  of  the  free  cities,  to  constitute  society  according  to  its 
ancient  principles,  and  under  its  primitive  forms,  and  thiia  to 
defend  Jiomsclves  against  the  general  change  which  wob  pre- 
paiirig 


LECTURE    X 

VARIOUS     ATTEMPTS     TO     FORM     THE     SETEBAL     SOCliAL      E^^E 
MENTS    INTO    ONE    SOCIETY. 

At  the  commencement  of  this  lecture  I  wish,  at  once,  to 
determine  its  object  with  precision.  It  will  be  recollected, 
ihat  one  of  the  first  facts  that  struck  us,  was  the  diversity,  the 
aeparation,  the  independence,  of  the  elements  of  ancient  Eu- 
ropean society.  The  feudal  nobility,  the  clergy,  and  the  com 
mons,  had  each  a  position,  laws,  and  manners,  entirely  differ- 
ent ;  they  formed  so  many  distinct  societies  whose  mode  of 
government  was  independent  of  each  other.  They  were  in 
some  measure  connected,  and  in  contact,  but  no  real  union 
existed  between  them  ;  to  sj<eak  correctly,  they  did  not  form 
a  ualion — a  state. 

The  fusion  of  these  distinct  portions  of  society  into  .one  i.s, 
at  length,  accomplished  ;  this  is  precisely  the  distinctive  or- 
ganization, the  essential  characteristic  of  modern  society. 
The  ancient  social  elements  are  now  reduced  to  two — the 
government  and  the  people  ;  that  is  to  say,  diversity  ceased 
and  similitude  introduced  union.  Before,  however,  this  re- 
sult t')ok  place,  and  even  with  a  view  to  its  prevention,  many 
attempts  were  made  to  bring  all  these  separate  portions  of  so- 
ciety together,  without  destroying  their  diversity  and  indepen- 
dence. No  positive  attack  was  made  on  the  peculiar  position 
and  privileges  of  each  portion,  on  their  distinctive  nature,  and 
yet  there  was  an  attempt  made  to  form  them  into  one  statf), 
:)ne  national  body,  to  bring  ihem  all  under  one  and  the  same 
government. 

All  these  attemp.3  failed.  The  result  which  I  have  noticed 
above,  the  union  of  modern  society,  attests  their  want  of  sue 
cess  Even  in  'hose  parts  of  Europe  where  some  traces  of 
the  ancient  diversity  of  the  social  elements  are  still  to  be  met 
srith,  in  Germany,  for  instance,  where  a  real  feudal  nobility 
and  a  distinct  body  of  burghers  still  exist;  in  England,  where 
*'C  oee  an  established  Church  enioying  its  own  revenues  anJ 


CIVIUZATION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  QH 

l8  own  peculiar  jurisdiction  ;  it  is  clear  that  this  pretended 
iistiiict  existence  is  a  shadow,  a  falsehood  :  that  these  speciuj 
societies  are  confounded  in  general  society,  absorbed  in  the 
(itate,  governed  by  the  public  authorities,  controlled  by  the 
«;anie  system  of  polity,  carried  away  by  the  same  curreiit  of 
ideas,  the  same  manners.  Again  I  assert,  that  even  where 
.he  form  still  exists,  the  separation  and  independence  of  the 
ancijut  social  elements  have  no  longer  any  reality. 

At  the  same  time,  tliese  attempts  at  rendering  the  ancient 
und  social  elements  co-ordinate,  without  changing  their  na- 
ture, at  forming  them  into  national  unity  without  annihilating 
iheir  variety,  are  entitled  to  an  important  place  in  the  history 
of  Europe.  The  period  which  now  engages  our  attention — 
that  period  which  separates  ancient  from  modern  Europe,  md 
m  which  was  accomplished  the  metamorphosis  of  European 
society — is  almost  entirely  filled  with  them.  Not  only  do 
ihey  form  a  principal  part  of  the  history  of  this  period,  but 
they  had  a  considerable  influence  on  after  events,  on  the  man- 
ner in  which  was  eflected  th^  reduction  of  the  various  social 
elements  to  two — the  government  and  the  people.  It  is  clear- 
ly, then,  of  great  importance,  that  we  should  become  well  ac- 
quainted with  all  those  endeavors  at  political  organizatioi. 
which  were  made  from  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century, 
for  the  purpose  of  creating  nations  and  governments,  without 
destroying  the  diversity  of  secondary  societies  placed  by  tho 
side  of  each  other.  These  attempts  form  the  subject  of  ths 
present  lecture — a  laborious  and  even  painful  task. 

All  these  attempts  at  political  organization  did  not,  certain- 
ly, originate  from  a  good  motive  ;  too  many  of  them  arose 
from  selfishness  and  tyranny.  Yet  some  of  them  were  pur6 
and  disinterested  ;  some  of  them  had,  truly,  for  their  object 
the  moral  and  social  welfare  of  mankind.  Society,  at  this 
rime,  was  in  such  a  state  of  incoherence,  of  violence  and  in- 
■quity,  as  could  not  but  be  extremely  ofleiisive  to  men  of  en- 
larged views — to  men  who  possessed  elevated  sentiments, 
ind  who  labored  incessantly  to  discover  the  means  of  iniprov- 
ing  it.  Yet  even  the  best  of  these  noble  attempts  miscarried  , 
and  IS  not  the  loss  of  so  much  courage — of  so  many  sacrifi- 
ces  and  endeavors — of  so  much  virtue,  a  melancholy  sjjec- 
acle  ?  And  what  is  still  more  painful,  a  still  more  poignant 
sorrow,  not  only  did  these  attempts  at  social  melioration  fail, 
*3\s'  an  enoimous  mass  of  error  and  of  evil  was  mingled  with 
14 


312  GENERAL    HI8T0RV    OV 

them.  Notwithstanding  good  intention,  the  majority  of  their 
were  absurd,  and  show  a  profound  ignorance  of  reason,  of 
lustice,  of  the  rights  of  humanity,  and  of  the  conditions  of  tlie 
Bocial  state ;  so  that  not  only  were  they  unsuccessfid,  but  it 
was  right  that  tliey  should  be  so.  We  have  here  a  spectacle 
not  only  of  the  hard  lot  of  humanity,  but  also  of  its  weakness 
We  may  here  see  how  the  smallest  portion  of  truth  suflicos 
90  to  engage  the  whole  attention  of  men  of  superior  intellect, 
that  they  forget  every  thing  ehe,  and  become  blind  to  all  ihal 
is  r.ot  comprised  within  the  narrow  horizon  of  their  ideas. 
We  may  here  see  how  the  existence  of  ever  so  small  a  par- 
ticle of  justice  in  a  cause  is  sufficient  to  make  them  lose 
sight  of  all  the  injustice  which  it  contains  and  permits.  Tliia 
display  of  the  vices  and  follies  of  man  is,  in  my  opin.or,  3I1II 
more  melancholy  to  contemi)late  than  the  misery  of  this  con- 
dition ;  his  faults  affect  me  more  than  his  sullerings.  The  at- 
tempts already  alluded  to  will  bring  man  before  us  in  both  these 
situations  ;  still  we  must  not  shun  the  painful  retrospect ;  it 
behooves  us  not  to  flinch  from  doing  justice  to  those  men,  to 
those  ages  that  have  so  often  erred,  so  miserably  failed,  and 
yet  have  displayed  such  noble  virtues,  made  such  powerful 
eflbrts,  merited  so  much  glory. 


The  attempts  at  political  organization  which  were  formed 
from  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  centuries  were  of  two  kinds  ; 
one  having  for  its  object  the  predominance  of  one  of  the  so- 
cial elements  ;  sometimes  the  clergy,  sometimes  the  feudal 
nobility,  sometimes  the  free  cities,  and  making  all  the  otlier.i 
subordinate  to  it,  and  by  such  a  sacrifice  to  introduce  unity ; 
the  other  proposed  to  cause  all  the  different  societies  to  agree 
and  to  act  together,  leaving  to  each  portion  its  liberty,  and  en- 
suring to  each  its  due  share  of  influence. 

The  attempts  of  the  former  kind  are  much  more  open  tc 
suspicion  of  self-interest  and  tyranny  than  the  latter  ;  in  faci^ 
ihey  were  not  spotless  ;  from  their  very  nature  they  were  eii- 
sentially  tyra.inical  in  their  mode  of  execution  ;  yet  some  of 
ihcni  might  have  been,  and  indeed  were,  conceived  in  a  Hpirii 
of  pure  intention,  and  witii  a  view  to  the  welfare  and  advaifce 
mcnt  of  mankind 


The  first  attempt  whicn  presents  itself,  is  the  attempf  a' 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE  213 

Jieocratical  organization  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  design  of  bring- 
ing all  the  other  societies  into  a  stale  of  submission  to  the 
principles  and  sway  of  ecclesiastical  society. 

I  iniisl  here  refer  to  what  I  have  already  said  relative  to  the 
nistory  of  the  Church.  I  have  endeavored  to  show  what  were 
the  princij)les  it  developed — what  was  the  legitimate  part  of 
each — how  these  principles  arose  from  the  natural  course  of 
events — the  good  and  the  evil  produced  by  them.  I  have 
characterized  the  dilTerent  stages  through  which  the  Church 
passed  from  the  eighth  to  the  twelfth  century.  I  have  point- 
ed out  the  state  of  the  imperial  Church,  of  the  barbarian 
Church,  of  the  feudal  Church,  and  lastly,  of  the  theocratic 
Church.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  all  this  is  present  in  your 
fecollec\ion,  and  I  shall  now  endeavor  to  show  you  what  the 
clergy  did  in  order  to  obtain  the  government  of  Europe,  and 
why  they  failed  in  obtaining  it. 

The  attempt  at  tlieocratic  organization  appeared  at  an 
early  period,  both  in  the  acts  of  the  court  of  Rome,  and  in 
those  of  the  clergy  in  general ;  it  naturally  proceeded  from  the 
political  and  moral  superiority  of  the  Church  ;  but,  from  the 
commencement,  such  obstacles  were  thrown  in  its  way,  that, 
even  in  its  greatest  vigor,  it  never  had  the  power  to  overcome 
ihem. 

The  first  obstacle  was  the  nature  itself  of  Christianity 
Very  different,  in  this  respect,  from  the  greater  part  of  religi 
ous  creeds,  Christianity  established  itself  by  persuasion  alone 
by  simple  moral  efibrts  ;  even  at  its  birth  it  was  not  armed 
with*  power  ;  in  its  earliest  years  it  conquered  by  words  alone, 
and  its  only  conquest  was  the  souls  of  men.  Even  after  ita 
triumph,  even  when  the  Church  was  in  possession  of  great 
wealth  and  consideration,  the  direct  government  of  society 
was  not  placed  in  its  hands.  Its  origin,  purely  moral,  spring- 
ing from  mental  influence  alone,  was  inplanted  in  its  consti- 
tution. It  possessed  a  vast  influence,  but  it  had  no  power.  !• 
gradually  insinuated  itself  into  the  municipal  magistracies  ;  it 
acted  powerfully  upon  the  emperors  and  upon  all  their  agents  ; 
bv*.  the  positive  administration  of  public  affairs — the  govern- 
nient,  properly  so  called — was  not  possessed  by  the  Church. 
Now,  a  system  of  government,  a  theocracy,  as  well  as  any 
Dther,  cannot  be  established  in  an  indirect  manner,  by  mere 
mfluence  alone  ;  it  must  possess  the  judicial  and  ministerial 
offices,  the  command  of  the  forces,  be  in  receipt  of  the  iin 


^14  aENERAL    HISTORY    OV 

posts,  have  the  disposal  of  the  revenu«  i,  in  a  word,  ii  must 
govern — take  possession  of  society.  Force  of  persuasion  may 
do  much,  it  may  obtain  great  influence  over  a  people,  and 
even  over  governments  its  sway  may  be  very  powerful  ;  but 
it  cannot  govern,  it  cannot  found  a  system,  it  cannot  take 
possession  of  the  future.  Such  has  been,  even  from  its  origin, 
the  situation  of  the  Christian  Church  ;  it  has  always  sided 
with  government,  but  never  superseded  it,  and  taken  its  place  ; 
d  great  obstacle,  which  ihe  attempt  at  theocratic  organiza- 
tion was  never  able  to  surmcimt. 

The  attempt  to  establish  a  theocracy  very  soon  met  with  a 
second  obstacle.  When  the  Roman  empire  was  destroyed, 
and  the  barbarian  states  were  establisbed  on  its  ruins,  the 
Christian  Church  was  found  among  the  conquered.  It  was 
necessary  for  it  to  escape  from  this  situation ;  to  begin  by 
converting  the  conquerors,  and  thus  to  raise  itself  to  their 
rank.  This  accomplished,  when  the  Church  aspired  to  do- 
minion, it  had  to  encounter  the  pride  and  the  resistance  of  \he 
feudal  nobility.  Europe  is  greatly  indebted  to  the  laic  mem- 
bers of  the  feudal  system  in  the  eleventh  century  :  the  people 
were  almost  completely  subjugated  by  the  Church ;  sove» 
eigns  could  scarcely  protect  themselves  from  its  domination  ; 
the  feudal  nobility  alone  would  never  submit  to  its  yoke,  would 
•ever  give  way  to  the  power  of  the  clergy.  We  have  only 
to  recall  to  our  recollection  the  general  appearance  of  the 
middle  ages,  in  order  to  be  struck  with  the  singular  mixture 
of  loftiness  and  submission,  of  blind  faith  and  liberty  of  mind 
in  the  connexion  of  the  lay  nobility  with  the  priests.  '  We 
there  tind  some  of  the  remnants  of  their  primitive  situation, 
It  may  be  remembered  how  I  endeavored  to  describe  the  ori- 
gin of  the  feudal  system,  its  first  elements,  and  the  manner  in 
which  feudal  society  first  formed  itself  around  the  habitation 
of  the  possessor  of  the  fief.  I  remarked  how  much  the  Driest 
was  there  below  the  lord  of  the  fief.  Yes,  and  there  always 
remained,  in  the  hearts  of  the  feudal  nobility,  a  feeling  of  this 
situation  ;  the)  always  considered  tliemselves  as  not  only  in 
dependent  of  the  Church,  but  as  its  superior, — as  alone  called 
upon  to  possess,  and  in  reality  to  govern,  the  coimtry  ;  the\ 
were  willing  always  to  live  on  good  terms  with  the  clergi', 
out  at  the  same  time  insisting  that  each  should  perA>rm  his 
Dwu  part,  the  one  not  infringing  upon  the  duties  of  the  other 
Hiiring  many  centuries  it  was  the  lay  aristocracy  who  main 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODEllN    TtJfiOPE.  215 

iiiucd  l"he  independence  of  society  with  regard  to  the  Church; 
hey  boldly  defended  it  when  the  sovereigns  and  the  people 
were  subdued.  They  were  the  first  to  oppose,  and  probably 
contributed  more  than  any  other  power  to  the  failure  of  the 
attempt  at  a  theocratic  organization  of  society. 

A  third  obstacle  stood  much  in  the  way  of  this  attempt,  an 
obstacle  which  has  been  but  little  noticed,  and  the  effect  of 
which  has  often  been  misunderstood. 

In  all  parts  of  the  world  where  a  clergy  made  itself  mastei 
of  society,  and  forced  it  to  submit  to  a  theocratic  organization, 
die  government  always  fell  into  the  nands  of  a  married  clergy 
of  a  body  of  priests  who  were  enabled  to  recruit  their  ranks 
from  their  own  society.  Examine  history  ;  look  to  Asia  and 
Egypt  ;  every  powerful  theocracy  you  will  find  to  have  been 
tlie  work  of  a  priesthood,  of  a  society  complete  within  itself, 
and  which  had  no  occasion  to  borrow  of  any  other. 

But  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy  placed  the  Christian  priest- 
hood in  a  very  different  situation  ;  it  was  obliged  to  have  re- 
course incessantly  to  lay  society  in  order  to  continue  its  ex- 
istence ;  it  was  compelled  to  seek  at  a  distance,  among  all 
stations,  all  social  profesi;ions,  for  the  means  of  its  duration. 
In  vain,  attachment  to  their  order  induced  them  to  labor  as- 
siduously for  the  purpose  of  assimilating  these  discordant 
elements  ;  some  of  the  original  qualities  of  these  new-comers 
ever  remain  ;  citizens  or  gentlemen,  they  always  retained 
some  vestige  of  their  former  disposition,  of  their  early  habits. 
Doubtless  the  Catholic  clergy,  by  being  placed  in  a  lonely 
situation  by  celibacy,  by  being  cut  off,  as  it  were,  from  the 
common  life  of  men,  became  more  isolated,  and  separate  from 
society ;  but  then  it  was  forced  continually  to  have  recourse 
.o  this  same  lay  society,  to  recruit,  to  renew  itself  from  it, 
and  consequently  to  participate  in  the  moral  revolutions  which 
it  underwent ;  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  stating  it  as  my 
opinion,  that  this  necessity,  which  was  always  arising,  did 
much  more  to  prevent  the  success  of  the  attempt  at  theocratic 
organization,  than  the  esprit  dc  corps,  strongly  supported  as  it 
w  as  by  celibacy,  did  to  forward  it. 

The  clergy,  indeed,  found  within  its  own  body  the  most 
powerful  opponents  of  this  attempt.  Much  has  been  said  of 
tho  unity  of  the  Church,  and  it  is  true  that  it  has  constantly 
endeavored  to  obtain  this  unity,  and  in  some  particulars  haa 
nml  the  good  fortune  to  succeed.     Bjt  we  must  uot  sufTo/ 


216  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

ourselves  to  be  imposed  upon  by  bigh-souuding  words,  nor  b) 
partial  facts.  What  society  has  ofiered  to  our  view  a  greatei 
number  of  civil  dissensions,  has  been  subject  to  more  dismem- 
berments than  the  clergy  ?  What  society  has  suffered  more 
Irom  divisions,  from  agitations,  from  disputes  than  the  ecclesi 
astical  nation  ?  The  national  churches  of  tlie  majority  of  Eu- 
ropean states  have  been  incessantly  at  variance  with  the  Ro- 
man court ;  the  councils  have  been  at  war  with  the  popea  ; 
heresies  have  been  innumerable  and  ever  springing  up  anew  ; 
schism  always  breaking  out ;  now  here  was  ever  wilnesbed 
kuch  a  diversity  of  opinions,  so  much  rancor  in  dispute,  sucii 
lainute  parcelling  out  of  power.  The  internal  state  of  the 
Church,  the  disputations  which  have  taken  ])lace,  the  revolu- 
tions by  which  it  has  been  agitated,  have  been  perhaps  the 
greatest  of  all  obstacles  to  the  triumph  of  that  theocratical 
organization  which  the  Church  endeavored  to  impose  upon 
society. 

AH  these  obstacles  were  visibly  iu  action  even  so  early  as 
the  fifth  century,  even  at  the  commencement  of  the  great  at- 
tempt of  which  we  are  now  speaking.  They  did  not  how- 
ever, prevent  the  continuance  of  its  exertions,  nor  retard  its 
progress  during  several  centuries.  Tlie  period  of  its  greatest 
glory,  its  crisis,  as  it  may  be  termed,  was  the  reign  of  Gre- 
gory the  Seventh,  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century.  Wo 
have  already  seen  that  the  predominant  wish  of  Gregory  was 
to  render  the  world  subservient  to  the  clergy,  the  clergy  to 
the  pope,  and  to  form  Europe  into  one  immense  and  regular 
theocracy.  In  the  scheme  by  which  this  was  to  be  effected, 
this  great  man  appears,  so  far  as  one  can  judge  of  events 
which  took  place  so  long  ago,  to  have  committed  two  great 
faults — one  as  a  theorist,  the  other  as  a  revolutionist.  The 
first  consisted  in  the  pompous  proclamation  of  his  plan  ;  in 
his  giving  a  systematical  detail  of  his  principles  relative  to 
;he  nature  and  the  rights  of  spiritual  power,  of  drawing  from 
them  beforehand,  like  a  severe  logician,  their  remotest,  their 
ultimate  consequences.  He  thus  threatened  and  even  attacked 
all  the  lay  sovereignties  of  Europe,  without  having  secured  the 
moans  of  success  :  not  considering  that  success  in  human 
eflairs  is  not  to  be  obtainei/by  such  absolute  proceedings,  or 
by  a  mere  appeal  to  a  philosophic  argument.  Gregory  the 
Seventh  also  fell  into  the  common  error  of  all  revolutionists — • 
that  of  attempting  more  than  they  can  pei  form,  and  of  not 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MJDER.V    EUROPE.  '^l? 

fixing  the  measure  and  limits  of  their  enterprises  .vithin  the 
bounds  of  possibility.  In  order  to  hasten  the  predominance 
of  his  opinions,  he  entered  into  a  contest  against  the  Empire 
against  all  sovereigns,  even  against  the  great  oody  of  the 
clergy  its(df.  He  never  temporized— he  consulted  no  parti- 
cular  interests,  but  openly  proclaimed  his  determination  to 
reign  over  all  kingdoms  as  well  as  over  all  intellects  ;  and 
thus  raised  up  against  him,  not  only  all  temporal  powers, 
who  discovered  the  pressing  danger  of  their  situation,  but 
also  ail  those  who  advocated  tlie  right  of  free  inquiry,  a  parly 
which  now  began  to  show  itself,  and  dreaded  and  exclaimed 
against  all  tyranny  over  the  human  mind.  It  seemed  indeed 
probable,  on"  the  whole,  that  Gregory  the  Seventh  injured 
ratlier  than  advanced  the  cause  which  he  wished  to  serve. 

This  cause,  however,  still  continued  to  prosper  throughout 
the  whole  of  the  twelfth  and  down  to  the  middle  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  This  was  the  epoch  of  the  greatest  power 
und  splendor  of  the  Church.  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  said 
that  during  this  period  she  made  much  progress  ;  to  the  end  o 
he  reign  of  Innocent  III.  she  rather  displayed  her  glory  and 
)0wer  than  increased  them.  But  at  this  very  moment  of  her 
ipparently  greatest  success,  a  popular  reaction  seemed  to  de- 
clare war  against  her  in  almost  every  part  of  Europe.  In 
the  south  of  France  broke  out  the  heresy  of  the  Albigenses, 
which  carried  away  a  numerous  and  powerful  society.  Al- 
most at  the  same  time  similar  notions  and  desires  appeared 
in  the  north,  in  Flanders.  Wickliffe,  only  a  little  later,  attack- 
ed in  England,  with  great  talent,  the  power  of  the  Church, 
nd  founded  a  sect  which  was  not  destined  to  perish.  Sove- 
reigns soon  began  to  follow  the  bent  of  their  nations.  It  was 
only  at  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  that  the  em- 
perors of  the  house  of  Hohenstaufen,  who  deservedly  rank 
amon^  the  most  able  and  powerful  sovereigns  of  Europe,  were 
overcome  in  their  struggle  with  the  Holy  See;  yet  before  the 
cr.d  of  the  same  century.  Saint  Louis,  the  most  pious  of  mon- 
archs,  proclaimed  the  independence  of  temporal  power,  an  1 
tmblished  the  first  pragmatic  sanction,  which  has  served  as 
'.lie  basis  of  all  the  following.22     At  the  opening  of  the  four- 

«  This  ordinance  or  edict  was  proclaimed  by  St.  Louis  in  1269. 
TSe  term  Pracmattc  Sanction  is  commonly  applied  to  four  ordi- 
uances  published  al  a  subsequent  date :  L  Tnat  of  Charles  VII.  of 


218  OENQRAL    HI8TORV    OK 

teeiith  century  began  the  quarrel  between  Philip  the  Bel  with 
Boniface  VIII.:  Edward  I.  c-f  England  was  not  more  obe- 
dient to  the  court  of  Rome  At  this  epoch  it  is  evident,  that 
the  attempt  at  theocratic  organization  had  failed  ;  the  Church 
henceforward  acted  only  upon  the  defensive ;  she  no  longei 
attempted  to  force  her  system  upon  Europe ;  but  only  cca- 
eidered  how  she  might  keep  what  she  possessed.  It  is  at  the 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century  that  tiuly  dates  the  emancipa- 
tion of  the  laic  society  of  Europe  ;  it  was  then  that  the  Cl.'irch 
gave  up  her  pretensions  to  its  possession. 

For  a  long  time  before  this  she  had  renewed  this  preten 
sion  in  the  very  sphere  in  which  it  appea.ed  most  likely  foi 
her  to  be  successful.  For  a  long  time  in  Italy  itself,  even 
around  tlie  very  throne  of  the  Church,  theocracy  had  com- 
pletely failed,  and  given  way  to  a  system  its  very  opposite  in 
character  ;  to  that  attempt  at  democratic  organization,  of  which 
the  Italian  republics  are  the  type,  and  which  displayed  so 
brilliant  a  career  in  Europe  from  the  eleventh  to  the  sixteenth 
century. 


It  will  be  remembered,  that,  when  speaking  of  the  free 
cities,  of  their  history,  and  of  the  manner  of  their  formation, 
I  observed  that  their  growth  had  been  more  precocious  and 
vigorous  in  Italy  than  in  any  other  country ;  they  were  hero 
more  numerous,  as  well  as  more  wealthy,  than  in  Gaul,  Eng- 
land, or  Spain  ;  the  Roman  municipal  system  had  been  pre- 
served with  more  life  and  regularity.  Besides  this,  the  pro- 
vinces of  Italy  were  less  fitted  to  become  the  habitation  of  its 
new  masters  tlian  the  rest  of  Europe      The  lands  had  been 

France  in  1438,  by  which  the  Papal  power  was  limited,  and  the  in- 
dependence of  the  French  church  in  various  particulars  declared — 
conformably  to  the  canons  of  the  Council  of  Basle.  This  council 
commenced  in  1431  and  closed  1449.  It  passed  a  great  many  ca- 
nons declaring  the  Pope  subject  to  the  decrees  of  general  councili, 
limiting  his  powers,  and  decreeing  the  reformation  of  various  abu;es 
and  corruptions  of  discipline  and  practice.  T!ie  history  of  this 
rouncil,  ab  well  as  that  of  the  former  council  held  at  Constance  in 
141'i— 18,  IS  deeply  interesting.  2.  The  decree  passed  by  CharU* 
VI.  eniperoi  of  Germany  in  1449,  confirming  the  canons  of  iht 
»uncil  of  Basle,  is  also  called  a  Pragmatic  Sanction.  3.  The  de 
ciee  of  Charles  VI.  respecting  the  succession  to  the  imperial  throno 
i.  The  law  of  succession  procbinu'd  by  C(  -^rad  III.  of  Spain  in  175iJf 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE  219 

cleared,  drained,  and  ciltivated ;  it  khs  not  covered  witb 
forests,  ami  the  barbarians  could  not  here  devote  their  lives  to 
.he  chas-e,  or  find  occupations  similar  to  what  had  amused  them 
in  Germany.  A  part  of  this  country,  moreover,  did  not  bclonj^ 
lo  them.  The  south  of  Italy,  the  Campania,  Romana,  Ra- 
venna, were  still  dependant  on  the  Greek  emperors.  Fa- 
vored by  distance  from  the  seat  of  government,  and  by  the 
vicissitudes  of  war,  the  republican  system  soon  took  root,  and 
grew  very  fast  in  this  portion  of  the  country.  Italy,  too.  be- 
sides having  never  been  entirely  subdued  by  the  barbarians, 
was  favored  by  the  circumstance,  that  the  conquerors  who 
overran  it  did  not  remain  its  tranquil  and  lasting  possessors. 
The  Ostrogoths  were  destroyed  and  driven  ofT  by  Belisarius 
and  Narses  :  the  kingdom  of  the  Lombards  was  not  perma- 
nent. The  Franks  overthrew  it  under  Pepin  and  Charlemagne, 
who,  without  exterminating  the  Lombard  population,  found  it 
their  interest  to  ally  themselves  with  tlie  ancient  Italian  in- 
habitants, in  order  to  contend  against  the  Lombards  with 
more  success.  The  barbarians,  then,  never  became  in  Italy, 
as  in  the  other  parts  of  Europe,  the  exclusive  and  quiet  mas- 
ters of  the  territory  and  people.  And  thus  it  happened  tha 
the  feudal  system  never  made  much  progress  beyond  the  Alps 
wheie  it  was  but  weakly  established,  and  its  members  few 
and  scattered.  Neither  did  the  great  territorial  proprietors 
ever  gain  that  preponderance  here,  which  they  did  in  Gaul 
and  other  countries,  but  it  continued  to  rest  with  the  towns. 
When  this  result  clearly  showed  itself,  a  great  number  of  the 
possessors  of  fiefs,  moved  by  choice  or  necessity,  left  their 
country  dwellings  and  took  up  their  abode  within  the  walls  ol 
some  city.  The  barbarian  nobles  made  themselves  burgess- 
3S.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  what  strength  and  superiority  the 
.owns  of  Italy  acquired,  compared  with  the  other  communities 
of  Europe,  by  this  single  circumstance.  What  we  have  chiefly 
dwelt  upon,  as  most  observable  in  the  character  of  town  popu- 
lations, is  their  timidity  and  weakness.  The  burgesses  ap- 
pear like  so  many  courageous  freedmen,  struggling  with  toil 
and  care  against  a  master,  always  at  their  gates.  The  fate  of 
vhe  Italian  towns  was  widely  difl^erent ;  the  conquering  and 
conquered  populations  here  mixed  together  within  the  same 
^alls  ;  the  towns  had  not  the  trouble  to  defend  themselves 
against  a  neighboring  master  ;  their  inhabitants  were  citizens, 
who,  at  least  for  the  most  part,  had  always  been  free  ;  who 
lefended  their  independence  and  their  rights  against  distaiil 


120  GENERAL    HISTORV    OF 

breign  sovereigns  ,  at  one  time  against  the  kings  of  the 
Franks,  and,  at  a  later  period,  agaiiist  the  emperors  of  Uer- 
nany.  This  will  in  some  measure  account  for  the  immense 
and  precocious  superiority  of  the  Italian  cities  :  while  in  other 
"Ojntries  we  see  poor  insignificant  communities  arise  aftei 
great  trouble  and  exertion ;  we  here  see  shoot  up,  almost 
at  oi»ce,  republics — states. 

Thus  becomes  explained,  why  tlie  attempt  at  republican  or- 
ganization was  so  successful  in  this  part  of  Europe.  It  re- 
pressed, almost  in  its  childhood,  the  feudal  systciu,  and  be- 
came the  prevailing  form  in  society.  Still  it  was  but  little 
adapted  to  spread  or  endure  ;  it  contained  but  ''ew  germs  of 
melioration,  a  necessary  condition  for  the  extension  and  dura- 
•ion  of  any  form  of  government. 

In  looking  at  the  history  of  the  Italian  republics,  from  the 
eleventh  to  the  fifteenth  century,  we  are  struck  with  two  facts, 
seemingly  contradictory,  yet  still  indisputable.  We  see  pass- 
ing before  us  a  wonderful  display  of  courage,  of  activity,  and 
of  genius  ;  an  amazing  prosperity  is  the  result :  we  see  a 
movement  and  a  liberty  unknown  to  the  rest  of  Europe.  But 
if  we  ask  what  was  the  real  state  of  the  inhabitants,  how 
they  passed  their  lives,  what  was  their  real  share  of  happi- 
ness, the  scene  changes  ;  there  is,  perhaps,  no  history  so  sad 
so  gloomy :  no  period,  perhaps,  during  which  the  lot  of  man 
appears  to  have  been  so  agitated,  subject  to  so  many  deplor- 
able chances,  and  which  so  abounds  in  dissensions,  crimes, 
and  misfortunes.  Another  fact  strikes  us  at  the  same  moment  • 
ia  the  political  life  of  the  greater  part  of  these  republics, 
liberty  was  always  growing  less  and  less.  The  want  of  se- 
curity was  so  great,  that  the  people  were  unavoidably  driven 
to  take  shelter  in  a  system  less  stormy,  less  popular,  than  that 
in  which  the  state  existed.  Look  at  the  history  of  Florence. 
Venice,  Genoa,  Milan,  or  Pisa ;  in  all  of  them  we  find  the 
course  of  events,  instead  of  aiding  the  progress  of  liberty,  in- 
stead of  enlarging  the  circle  of  institutions,  tending  to  repress 
it ;  tending  to  concentrate  power  in  the  hands  of  a  smalloi 
Dumber  of  individuals.  In  a  word,  we  find  in  these  republics, 
otherwise  so  energetic,  so  brilliant,  and  so  rich,  two  thingh 
wanting — security  of  life,  the  first  requisite  in  the  social  state, 
Mid  the  progress  of  institutions 

From  these  causes  sprung  a  new  evil,  which  prevented  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  221 

iUempl  at  republican  organization  from  extending  itself,  /l 
was  from  without — it  was  from  foreign  sovereigns,  that  the 
greatest  danger  was  threatened  to  Italy.  Still  this  danger  never 
succeeded  in  reconciling  these  republics,  in  making  them  all 
act  in  concert ;  they  were  never  ready  to  resist  in  common 
the  common  enemy.  This  has  led  many  Italiai\s,  the  mo«t 
enlightened,  the  bast  of  patriots,  to  deplore,  in  the  present 
day,  the  republican  system  of  Italy  in  the  middle  ages,  as  ihr 
true  cause  which  hindered  it  from  becoming  a  nation  ;  it  was 
parcelled  out,  they  say,  into  a  multitude  of  little  states,  not 
sufHciently  master  of  their  passions  to  confederate,  to  consti- 
tute themselves  into  one  united  body.  They  regret  that  their 
country  has  not,  like  the  rest  of  Europe,  been  subject  to  a 
despotic  centralization  which  would  have  formed  it  into  a  na- 
tion, and  rendered  it  independent  of  the  foreigner. 

It  appears,  then,  that  republican  organization,  even  under 
the  most  favorable  citK;umstances,  did  not  contain,  at  this  pe- 
riod, any  more  than  it  has  done  since,  the  principle  of  progress, 
duration,  and  extension.  We  may  comparej  up  to  a  certain 
point,  the  organization  of  Italy,  in  the  middle  ages,  to  that  of 
ancient  Greece.  Greece,  like  Italy,  was  a  country  covered 
with  little  repul)lics,  always  rivals,  sometimes  enemies,  and 
sometimes  rallying  together  for  a  common  object.  In  this 
comparison  the  advantage  is  altogether  on  the  side  of  Greece 
There  is  no  doubt,  notwithstanding  the  frequent  iniquities  that, 
history  makes  known,  but  that  there  was  much  more  order 
security,  and  justice  in  the  interior  of  Athens,  Lacedemon 
and  Thebes,  than  in  the  Italian  republics.  See,  however, 
notwithstanding  this,  how  short  was  the  political  career  of 
Greece,  and  what  a  principle  of  weakness  is  contained  in  this 
parcelling  out  of  territory  and  power.  No  sooner  did  Greece 
con:e  in  contact  with  the  great  neighboring  states,  with  Maco- 
don  and  Rome,  than  she  fell.  These  little  republics,  so 
glorious  and  still  so  flourishing,  could  not  coalesce  to  redisi. 
How  much  more  likely  was  this  to  be  the  case  in  Italy,  where 
eociety  and  human  reason  had  made  no  such  strides  as  in 
(ifreece,  and  consequently  possessed  much  less  power. 

If  the  attempt  at  republi.;an  organization  had  so  htlk' 
clioncs  of  stability  in  Italy  where  it  had  triumphed,  where 
the  feuda'  system  had  been  overcome,  it  may  easily  be  sup 


222  GENERAL    HISTORY    OP 

posed  that  it  was  much  less  likely  to  succeed  in  the  o.hoi 
Darts  of  Europe. 

I  shall  lake  a  rapid  survey  of  its  fortunes. 

There  was  one  portion  of  Europe  which  bore  a  great  ro- 
Stinblance  to  Italy ;  he  soutVa  of  France,  and  the  adjoining 
urovinces  of  Spain,  Catalonia,  Navarre,  and  Biscay.  In 
.hese  districts  the  cities  had  made  nearly  the  same  progresH, 
and  had  risen  to  considerable  importance  and  wealth.  Many 
little  feudal  nobles  had  here  allied  themselves  with  the  citi- 
zens ;  a  part  of  the  clergy  had  likewise  embraced  tlieir  cause; 
in  a  word,  the  country  in  these  respects  was  another  Italy. 
So  also,  in  the  course  of  the  eleventh  and  beginning  of  the 
twelfth  century,  the  towns  of  Provence,  of  Languedoc,  and 
Acquitaine,  made  a  political  efibrt  and  formed  themselves  into 
free  republics,  as  haa  ueen  done  by  the  towns  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Alps.  But  the  south  of  France  was  connected 
with  a  very  powerlul  branch  of  the  feudal  system,  that  of  the 
North.  The  heresy  of  the  Albigenses  appeared.  A  war 
broke  out  between  leudal  France  and  municipal  France.  The 
history  of  the  crusade  against  the' Albigenses,  commanded  by 
Simon  de  Montfort,  is  well  known :  it  was  the  struggle  of  the 
feudalism  of  the  North  against  the  attempt  at  democratic  or- 
ganization of  the  South.  Notwithstanding  the  efforts  of 
Southern  patriotism,  the  North  gained  the  day ;  political 
unity  was  wanting  in  the  South,  but  civilization  was  not  yet 
sufficiently  advanced  there  to  enable  men  to  bring  it  about. 
This  attempt  at  republican  organization  was  put  down,  and 
the  crusade  re-established  the  feudal  system  in  the  south  of 
France. 

A  republican  attempt  succeeded  better  a  little  later,  among 
the  Swiss  mountains.  Here,  the  theatre  was  very  narrow, 
the  struggle  was  only  against  a  foreign  monarch,  who,  al- 
though much  more  powerful  than  the  Swiss,  was  not  one  of 
the  most  Ourmidable  sovereigns  of  Europe.  The  contest  waa 
carried  oi  with  a  great  display  of  courage.  The  Swiss  feu- 
dal nobility  allied  themselves,  for  the  most  ^>art,  with  the  cities 
a  powerful  help,  which  also  raised  the  character  of  the  revo- 
lution it  sustained,  and  stamped  it  with  a  more.aristocratical 
mi  stationary  character  than  it  seemingly  ought  to  havt 
bonie. 

I  crosfs  to  the  north  of  France  to  the  free  towns  of  Fluii 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODKBN    EUROPK.  223 

fcrs,  to  those  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  and  belonging  to 
ihe  Hanscatic  league.  Here  the  democratic  organization 
completely  triumphed  in  the  internal  government  of  the  cities  ; 
but  from  its  origin,  it  is  evident,  that  it  was  not  destined  to 
lake  entire  possession  of  society.  The  free  towns  of  the 
North  were  surrounded,  pressed  on  every  side  by  feudalism, 
by  barons,  and  sovereigns,  to  such  an  extent  that  they  were 
constantly  obliged  to  stand  upon  the  defensive  It  is  scarce- 
ly necessary  to  say,  that  they  did  nOt  trouble  themselves  to 
make  conquests  ;  they  defended  themselves  sometimes  well 
and  sometimes  badly.  They  preserved  their  privileges,  but 
they  remained  confined  to  the  inside  of  their  walls.  Within 
these,  democratic  organization  was  shut  up  and  arrested  ;  if 
we  walk  abroad  over  the  face  of  the  country,  we  find  no  sem- 
blance of  it. 

Such,  then,  was  the  state  of  the  republican  attempt:  trium 
phant  in  Italy,  but  with  little  hope  of  duration  and  progress  , 
vanquished  in  the  south  of  Gaul  ;  victorious  upon  a  small 
scale  in  the  mountains  of  Switzerland;  while  in  the  North, 
in  the  free  communities  of  Flanders,  the  Rhine,  and  Han- 
seatic  league,  it  was  condemned  not  to  appear  outside  their 
walls.  Still,  even  in  this  state,  evidently  inferior  to  the  other 
elements  of  society,  it  inspired  the  feudal  nobility  with  pro- 
digious terror.  The  barons  became  jealous  of  the  wealth  of 
the  cities,  they  feared  their  power  ;  the  spirit  of  democracy 
stole  into  the  country ;  insurrections  of  the  peasantry  became 
more  frequent  and  obstinate.  In  nearly  every  part  of  Europe 
a  coalition  was  formed  among  the  nobles  against  the  free 
cities.  The  parties  were  not  equal ;  the  cities  were  isolated ; 
there  was  no  correspondence  or  intelligence  between  them ; 
all  was  local.  It  may  be  true  that  there  existed,  between  the 
burgesses  of  different  countries  a  certain  degree  of  sympathy  ; 
the  success  or  reverses  of  the  tov/ns  of  Flanders,  in  their 
Btrugglcs  wuh  the  dukes  of  Burgundy,  excited  a  lively  sen- 
sation in  the  French  cities  ;  but  this  was  very  fleetit\g,  and 
led  to  no  result;  no  tie,  no  true  union  became  established  be- 
twecji  them  ;  the  free  communities  lent  no  assistance  to  one 
mother.  The  position  of  feudalism  was  much  superior  ;  yel 
divided,  and  withoiit  any  plan  of  its  own,  it  was  never  able 
to  destroy  them.  After  the  struggle  had  lasted  a  considerable 
time,  when  the  conviction  became  settled  that  a  complete  vic- 
tory was  impossible,  conccBsion  became  necessary     thcsr 


224  GENERAL    HIBTORV    OF 

petty  bvrgher  republics  were  acknowledged,  negotiaied  with 
and  admitted  as  members  of  the  state.  A  new  plan  was  now 
begun,  a  new  aUempt  was  made  at  political  organization. 
Theobject  of  this  was  to  conciliate,  to  reconcile,  to  make  to 
live  and  act  together,  in  spite  of  their  rooted  hosli'ily,  tht 
various  elements  of  society ;  that  is  to  say,  the  feudal  n<»- 
bility,  the  free  cities,  vhe  clergy,  and  monarchs.  It  is  to  this 
attempt  at  mixed  organization  that  I  have  still  to  claim  yoiu 
attention. 

I  presume  there  is  no  one  who  is  not  acquainted  with  the 
nature  of  the  States-general  of  France,  the  Cortes  of  Spain 
and  Portugal,  the  Parliament  of  England,  and  tlie  Slates  of 
Germany.  The  elements  of  these  various  assemblies  were 
much  the  same  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  feudal  nobility,  the  clergy, 
and  the  cities  or  conniions,  there  met  together  and  labored  to 
unite  themselves  into  one  sole  society,  into  one  same  state, 
under  one  same  law,  one  same  authority.  Whatever  their 
various  names,  this  was  the  tendency,  the  design  of  all. 

Let  us  take,  as  the  type  of  this  attempt,  the  fact  which 
most  interests  us,  as  well  as  being  best  known  to  us — the 
States-general  of  France.  I  say  this  fact  is  best  known, 
»hile  I  am  still  sure  that  the  term  States-general  awakens  in 
none  of  you  more  than  a  vague  and  incomplete  idea.  Who 
can  say  what  there  was  in  it  of  stability,  of  regularity ,  the 
number  of  its  members,  the  subjects  of  their  deliberations, 
the  times  at  which  they  were  convoked,  or  the  length  of  their 
sessions  ?  Of  all  this  we  know  nothing,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  obtain  from  history  any  clear,  general,  satisfactory  infor- 
mation respecting  it.  The  best  accounts  we  can  gather  from 
the  history  of  France,  as  regards  the  character  of  these  as- 
Bemblies,  would  almost  lead  us  to  consider  them  as  pure  ac- 
cidents, as  the  last  political  resort  both  of  people  and  kings  ; 
the  last  resort  of  kings,  when  they  had  no  money  and  knew 
not  how  to  free  themselves  from  embarrassment^;  the  last  re- 
sort of  the  people,  when  some  evil  became  so  great  that  tiiey 
knew  not  what  remedy  to  apply  to  it.  The  nobles  formed 
part  of  the  States-general  ;  so  did  the  clergy  ;  but  they  came 
kO  them  with  little  interest,  for  they  knew  well  that  it  was  not 
hi  these  assemblies  that  they  possessed  the  greatest  influence, 
thai  it  was  not  there  that  they  took  a  true  part  in  the  govern- 
ment. The  burgesses  themselves  were  not  eager  to  attenj 
bom ;  it  was  not  a  righ',  which  they  were  mxious  to  exer 


CIVtl.IZATlON    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  223 

iise,  but  rntner  a  nccesa.iy  to  which  they  sL^mitted.  Again, 
what  was  the  character  of  the  political  proceedings  of  these 
Hsseinhlies  ?  At  one  time  we  find  them  perfectly  insignifi- 
cant, at  others  terrible.  If  the  king  was  the  stronger,  the't 
humility  and  docility  were  extreme  ;  if  the  situation  of  ihc 
monarch  was  unfortunate,  if  he  really  needed  the  assistance 
i)f  the  Stales,  they  then  became  factious,  either  the  instni 
ment  of  some  aristocratic  intrigue,  or  of  some  ambitious  dema- 
gogues. Their  works  died  almost  always  with  them  ;  they 
promised  much,  they  attempted  much, — and  did  nothing.  No 
great  measure  which  has  truly  had  any  iuflucnce  upon  society 
in  France,  no  important  reform  either  in  the  general  legisla 
tion  or  administration,  ever  emanated  from  tlio  States  general. 
It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  they  have  been  alto- 
gether useless,  or  witliout  efi'ect ;  they  had  a  moral  eflect,  ol 
which  in  general  we  take  too  little  account ;  they  served  from 
time  to  time  as  a  protestation  against  political  servitude,  a 
forcible  proclamation  of  certain  guardian  principles, — such, 
for  example,  as  that  a  nation  has  the  right  to  vote  its  own 
taxes,  to  take  part  in  its  own  affairs,  to  impose  a  responsi- 
bility upon  the  agents  of  power.  That  these  maxims  have 
never  perished  in  France,  is  mainly  owing  to  the  States-gene- 
ral ;  and  it  is  no  slight  service  rendered  to  a  country,  to  main- 
tain among  its  virtues,  to  keep  alive  in  its  thoughts,  the  re- 
membrance and  claims  of  liberty.  The  States-general  hag 
done  us  this  service,  but  it  never  became  a  means  of  govern- 
ment ;  it  never  entered  upon  political  organization ;  it  never 
attained  the  object  for  which  it  was  formed,  that  is  to  say,  the 
fusion  into  one  only  body  of  the  various  societies  which  di- 
vided the  country .'3 

The  Cortes  of  Portugal  and  Spain  offered  the  same  general 
result,  though  in  a  thousand  circumstances  they  differ.  The 
■'mportance  of  the  Cortes  varied  according  to  the  kingdoms, 
and  times  at  which  they  were  held ;  they  were  most  power- 
s' The  first  States-general  of  France,  in  the  proper  meaning  of 
.he  word,  as  including  the  clergy,  nobility,  and  commons  or  depu- 
ties from  the  towns,  was  convoked  by  Philip  the  Fair  in  1302.  The 
ft-udal  nobility  had  before  this  time  submitted  to  the  appellant  ju« 
risdiction  of  the  crown,  exercised  by  the  royal  tribunriis ; — they  had 
also  lost  the  legislative  supremacy  in  their  fiefs ;  and  now,  by  allow 
ing  the  commons  to  become  a  co-ordinate  branch  of  the  national  lo 
^isiature,  they  lost  their  last  privilege  of  territoria'  independence 


i'Jb  GENERAL    HISTORY    07 

ful  and  most  frequently  convoked  in  Aragon  and  Biscay, 
during  the  disputes  for  the  successions  to  the  crown,  and  the 
struggles  against  the  Moors.  To  some  of  the  Cortes — for 
example,  that  of  Castile,  1370  and  1373— neither  the  nobles 
ilor  the  clergy  were  called.  There  weru  a  thousand  acci- 
dents which  it  would  be  necessary  to  notice,  if  we  had  time 
ko  look  closely  into  events  ;  but  in  the  general  sketch  to  which 
I  am  obliged  to  confine  myself  it  will  be  enough  to  state  that 
ihe  Cortes,  like  the  States-general  <)f  France,  have  been  an 
accident  in  history,  and  never  a  system — never  a  political  or 
panization,  or  regular  means  of  government. ^^ 

The  lot  of  England  has  been  different.  I  shall  not,  how- 
ever, enter  into  any  detail  upon  this  subject,  at  present,  as  it 

*<  The  cities  of  Castile  were  early  invested  with  chartered  privi- 
leges, including  civil  rights  and  extensive  properly,  on  condition  ol 
protecting  their  country.  The  deputies  of  the  cities  are  not  how- 
ever mentioned  as  composing  a  branch  of  the  Cortes  or  general  legis- 
lative council  of  the  nation  until  1169,  and  tiien  in  only  one  case. 
But  from  the  year  1189,  they  became  a  regular  and  essential  pan 
of  that  assembly.  Subsequently,  through  the  exercise  of  the  royal 
prerogative  in  withholding  the  writ  of  summons,  and  through  the 
neglect  of  many  cities  in  sending  deputies,  the  representation  be- 
came extremely  limited;  and  the  privilege  itself  was  gradually 
lost;  so  that  in  1480  only  seventeen  cities  retained  the  right  ol 
Bending  representatives.  The  concurrence  of  the  Cortes  of  Castile 
was  necessary  to  all  taxation  and  grants  of  money,  and  also  to  legis- 
lation in  general,  as  well  as  to  the  determination  of  all  great  and 
weighty  alfairs.  The  nobles  and  clergy  formed  the  two  other  es- 
tates oi  the  Cortes;  but  they  seem  to  have  been  less  regularly  sum- 
moned than  even  the  deputies  of  the  towns. 

In  the  kingdom  of  Aragon,  no  law  could  be  enacted  or  repealed 
without  the  consent  of  the  Cortes  ;  and  by  the  "  General  Privilege,'' 
I  srrt  of  Magna  Charta,  granted  in  1283,  this  body  was  to  be  as- 
semoled  every  year  at  Saragossa — though  it  was  afterwards  sum- 
moned once  in  two  years,  and  the  place  of  assembling  left  to  the 
discretion  of  the  king.  The  Cortes  of  this  kingdom  consisted  vi 
four  esiates  :  the  prelates  ;  the  commanders  of  military  orders,  wIk 
were  reckoned  as  ecclesiastics;  the  barons;  the  knights  or  infan- 
i<me.i  ■  and  tjie  deputies  of  the  royal  towns.  This  body  by  itself, 
when  in  sessicni,  and  by  a  commission  during  its  rectss,  exercised 
yci-y  considerable  |)owers,  both  legislative  and  administrative.  Va- 
lencia and  Catalonia  had  also  each  its  separate  Cortes  both  before 
md  after  their  union  with  Aragon.  See  Hallam,  Middle  Agea 
VJ.  I.  Chap  IV 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN      ElJROPIi.  227 

IS  my  intention  to  devote  a  future  lecture  to  tlie  special  con 
siileration  of  the  political  life  of  England.  All  I  ihallnowdo 
(s  to  say  a  few  words  upon  the  causes  which  gave  it  a  direc- 
'.ion  totally  different  from  that  of  the  continental  states. 

And,  first,  there  were  no  great  vassals,  no  subjects  suflicient- 
ly  powerful  to  enter  single-handed  itito  a  contest  with  the 
crown.  The  great  barons  were  obliged,  at  a  very  early  pe- 
riod, to  coalesce,  in  order  to  make  a  common  resistance. 
Thus  the  principle  of  association,  and  proceedings  truly  po- 
itical,  were  forced  upon  the  high  aristocracy.  Besides  this, 
English  feudalism — the  little  holders  of  fiefs— were  br>ir.,ght 
oy  a  train  of  circumstances,  which  I  cannot  here  recount,  to 
jtiite  themselves  with  the  burgher  class,  to  sit  with  them  in 
vhe  House  of  Commons  ;  and  by  this,  the  Commons  obtained 
in  England  a  power  much  superior  to  those  on  the  Continent, 
a  power  really  capable  of  influencing  the  government  of  the 
country.  In  the  fourteenth  century,  the  character  of  the  Eng- 
ish  Parliament  was  already  formed :  the  House  of  Lords 
was  the  great  council  of  the  king,  a  council  efl'ectively  asso- 
ciated in  the  exercise  of  authority.  The  House  of  Commons, 
composed  of  deputies  from  the  little  possessors  of  fiefs,  and 
from  the  cities,  took,  as  yet,  scarcely  any  part  in  the  govern- 
ment, properly  so  called  ;  but  it  asserted  and  established 
rights,  it  defended  with  great  spirit  private  and  local  interests. 
Parliament,  considered  as  a  whole,  did  not  yet  govern  ;  but 
already  it  was  a  regular  institution,  a  means  of  government 
adopted  in  principle,  and  often  indispensable  in  fact.  Thus 
llie  attempt  to  bring  together  the  various  elements  of  society, 
and  to  form  them  into  one  body  politic,  one  true  state  or  com- 
monwealth, did  succeed  in  England  while  it  failed  in  every 
part  of  the  Continent. 

I  shall  not  offer  more  than  one  remark  upon  Germany,  and 
that  only  to  indicate  the  prevailing  character  of  its  history. 
The  attempts  made  here  at  political  organization,  to  melt  into 
one  body  the  various  elements  of  society,  were  spiritless  and 
coldly  followed  up.  These  social  elements  had  remained 
here  more  distinct,  more  independent  than  in  the  rest  of  Eu- 
rope. Were  any  proof  of  this  wanting,  it  might  be  found  in 
its  later  usages.  Germany  is  the  only  country  of  Europe 
(1  say  nolliing  of  Poland  and  the  Sclavonian  nations,  which 
entered  so  very  late  into  the  European  system  of  civilization) 
in  which  feudal  election  has  for  a  long  time  taken  part  in  thf 
15 


i'28  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

bleclion  of  royalty  ;  it  is  likewise  the  only  country  of  EuroiH 
in  which  ecclesiastical  sovereigns  were  continued  ;  the  only 
one  in  which  were  preserved  free  cities  with  a  true  political 
"xistence  and  sovereignty.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  the  at- 
tempt to  fuse  the  elements  of  primitive  European  soritty  into 
one  social  body,  must  have  been  much  less  active  and  effect 
tiec  in  Germany  than  in  any  other  nation. 


I  have  now  run  over  all  the  great  attempts  at  political  or- 
l^anization  which  were  made  in  Europe,  down  to  the  end  of 
llie  fourteenth  or  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century.  All 
ihase  failed.  I  have  endeavored  to  point  out,  in  going  along, 
tho  causes  of  these  failures  ;  to  speak  truly,  they  may  all  be 
summed  up  in  one  :  society  was  not  yet  sufficiently  advanced 
to  adapt  itself  to  unity  ;  all  was  yet  too  local,  too  special,  too 
narrow  ;  too  many  differences  prevailed  both  in  things  and  in 
minds.  There  were  no  general  interests,  no  general  opinions 
capable  of  guiding,  of  bearing  sway  over  particular  interests 
and  particular  opinions.  The  most  enlightened  minds,  the 
boldest  thinkers,  had  as  yet  no  just  idea  of  administration  or 
justice  truly  public.  It  was  evidently  necessary  that  a  very 
active,  powerful  civilization  should  first  mix,  assimilate,  grind 
together,  as  it  were,  all  these  incoherent  elements  ;  it  was 
necessary  that  there  should  first  be  a  strong  centralization  of 
interests,  laws,  manners,  ideas  ;  it  was  necessary,  in  a  word, 
that  there  should  be  created  a  public  authority  and  a  public 
opinion.  We  are  now  drawing  near  to  the  period  in  which 
this  great  work  was  at  last  consummated.  Its  first  symptoms — • 
the  state  of  manners,  mind,  and  opinions,  during  the  fifteenth 
century,  their  tendency  towards  the  formation  of  a  central 
government  and  a  public  opinion  —will  be  the  subject  of  il  e 
billowing  lecture. 


LECTURE    XI 

CENTRALIZArlON    OF    NATIONS    AND    OOVBRNMKNTb 

We  have  now  reached  the  threshold  of  modern  history,  in 
the  proper  sense  of  the  term.  We  now  approach  that  state 
of  society  which  may  be  considered  as  our  own,  and  thfi"  in- 
stitutions, the  opinions,  and  the  manners  which  were  those  of 
France  forty  years  ago,  are  those  of  Europe  still,  and,  not- 
withstanding the  changes  produced  by  our  revolution,  continue 
to  exercise  a  powerful  influence  upon  us.  It  is  in  the  six- 
teentli  century,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  that  modern  so- 
ciety really  commences. 

Before  entering  into  a  consideration  of  this  period,  let  us 
review  the  ground  over  which  we  have  already  passed.  We 
have  discovered  among  the  ruins  of  the  Roman  Empire,  all 
the  essential  elements  of  modern  Europe  ;  we  have  seen  them 
separate  themselves  and  expand,  each  on  its  own  account, 
and  independently  of  the  others.  We  have  observed,  during 
the  first  historical  period,  the  constant  tendency  of  these  ele- 
ments to  separation,  and  to  a  local  and  special  existence.  But 
scarcely  has  this  object  appeared  to  be  attained  ;  scarcely 
have  feudalism,  municipal  communities,  and  the  clergy,  each 
taken  their  distinct  place  and  form,  when  we  have  seen  them 
tend  to  approximate,  unite,  and  form  themselves  into  a  gen- 
eral social  system,  into  a  national  body,  a  national  govern- 
ment. To  arrive  at  this  result,  the  various  countries  of  Europe 
had  recourse  to  all  the  different  systems  which  existed  among 
them  :  they  endeavored  to  lay  the  foundations  of  social  union, 
and  of  political  and  moral  obligations,  on  the  principles  of 
theocracy,  of  aristocracy,  of  democracy,  and  of  monarchy. 
Hitherto  all  these  attempts  have  failed.  No  particular  sys- 
•em  has  been  able  to  take  possession  of  society,  and  to  secure 
it,  by  its  sway,  a  destiny  truly  public.  We  have  traced  the 
;:au3e  of  this  failure  to  the  absence  of  general  interests  and 
genera,  ideas  :  we  have  found  that  everything,  as  yet,  was  too 
special,  too  individual   too  local ;  that  a  long  and  powerfu 


230  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

proc«!SS  of  centralization  was  necessary,  in  order  .hm  sucict}' 
might  become  at  once  extensive,  solid,  and  regular,  the  oh 
jecl  which  it  necessarily  seeks  to  attain.  Such  was  tho 
biate  in  which  we  left  E  irope  at  the  close  of  the  fourteenth 
ucni'iry. 

Europe,  however,  was  then  very  far  from  understanding 
Dor  own  state,  such  as  I  have  now  endeavored  tc  explain  il 
to  you.  She  did  not  know  distinctly  what  she  required,  oi 
what  she  was  in  search  of.  Yet  she  set  about  endeavoring 
to  supply  her  wants  as  if  she  knew  perfectly  what  they  were 
When  the  fourteenth  century  had  expired,  after  the  failuie  o( 
every  attempt  at  political  organization,  Europe  entered  natu 
rally,  and  as  if  by  instinct,  into  the  path  of  centralization.  Il 
is  the  characteristic  of  the  fifteenth  century  that  it  constantly 
tended  to  this  resuH,  that  it  endeavored  to  create  general  in- 
terests and  general  ideas,  to  raise  the  minds  of  men  to  more 
enlarged  views,  and  to  create,  in  short,  what  had  not,  till  then, 
existed  on  a  great  scale — nations  and  governments. 

The  actual  accomplishment  of  this  change  belongs  to  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  though  it  was  in  the  fif- 
teenth that  it  was  prepared.  It  is  this  preparation,  this  silent 
and  hidden  process  of  centralization,  both  in  the  social  rela- 
tions and  in  the  opinions  of  men — a  process  accomplished, 
without  premeditation  or  design,  by  the  natural  course  of 
events — that  we  have  now  to  make  the  subject  of  our  inquiry 

It  is  thus  that  man  advances  in  the  execution  of  a  plan 
which  he  has  not  conceived,  and  of  which,  he  is  not  even 
aware.  He  is  the  free  and  intelligent  artificer  of  a  work 
which  is  not  his  own.  He  does  not  perceive  or  comprehend 
it,  till  it  manifests  itself  by  external  appearances  and  real  re- 
sults ;  and  even  then  he  comprehends  it  very  incompletely. 
It  is  through  his  means,  however,  and  by  the  development  of 
his  intelligence  and  freedom,  that  it  is  accomplished.  Con- 
ceive a  great  machine,  the  design  of  which  is  centred  in  a 
single  mind,  though  its  various  parts  are  intrusted  to  difiereni 
workmen,  separated  from,  and  strangers  to  each  other.  No 
■)i\e  of  them  understands  the  work  as  a  whole,  nor  tne  gen- 
eral result  whicli  he  concurs  in  pioducing  ;  but  every  one  ex- 
Bcutes,  with  intelligence  and  freedom,  by  rational  and  voluntary 
Ids,  the  particular  task  assigned  to  him.  It  is  thus,  that  bj 
vhe  hand  of  man,  the  de«iga3  of  Providoce  are  wrought  ou' 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN    El'ROrK.  281 

n  tlie  government  of  the  world.  It  is  thus  that  the  two  great 
^acts  which  are  apparent  in  the  history  of  civilization  come 
to  co-exist  ;  on  the  one  hand,  those  portions  of  it  whicli  may 
be  considered  as  fated,  or  wliich  happen  without  the  control 
of  human  knowledge  or  will  ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  pari 
played  in  it  by  the  freedom  and  intelligence  of  man,  and  wha 
lie  contributes  to  it  by  means  of  his  own  judgment  and  will. 

In  order  that  we  may  clearly  understand  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury ;  in  order  that  we  mny  give  a  distinct  account  of  this  pre- 
lude, if  we  may  use  the  expression,  to  the  state  of  society  in 
modern  times,  we  will  separate  the  facts  which  bear  upon  the 
subject  into  different  classes.  We  will  first  examine  the  politi- 
cal facts — the  changes  which  have  tended  to  the  formation 
either  of  nations  or  of  governments  From  thence  we  will 
proceed  to  the  moral  facts  :  we  will  consider  the  changes 
which  took  place  in  ideas  and  in  manners  ;  and  we  shall  then 
see  w\\7i\.  general  opinions  began,  from  that  period,,  to  be  in  a 
state  of  preparation. 

In  regard  to  political  facts,  in  order  to  proceed  with  quick- 
ness and  simplicity,  I  shall  survey  all  the  great  countries  of 
Europe,  and  place  before  you  the  influence  which  the  fifteenth 
century  had  upon  them — how  it  found  them,  how  it  left  them. 

1  shall  begin  with  France.  The  last  half  of  the  fourteenth, 
and  the  first  half  of  the  fifteenth  century,  were,  as  you  all 
know,  a  time  of  great  national  wars  against  the  English. 
This  was  the  period  of  the  struggle  for  the  independence  of 
the  French  territory  and  the  French  name  against  foreign 
domination.  It  is  sufficient  to  open  the  book  of  history,  to 
see  with  what  ardor,  notwithstanding  a  multitude  of  treasons 
and  dissensions,  all  classes  of  society  in  France  joined  in  thia 
struggle,  and  what  patriotism  animated  the  feudal  nobility,  the 
burghers,  and  even  the  peasantry.  If  we  had  nothing  but  the 
ibtory  of  Joan  of  Arc  to  sho\V  the  popular  spirit  of  the  time,  it 
ilone  would  suffice  for  that  purpose.  Joan  of  Arc  sprang  from 
among  the  people  ;  it  was  by  the  sentiments,  the  religions 
b'^lief,  the  passions  of  the  people,  that  she  was  inspired  and 
supported.  She  was  looked  upon  with  mistrust,  with  ridicule, 
with  enmity  even,  by  the  nobles  of  the  court  and  the  leaders 
of  the  army  ;  but  she  had  always  the  soldiers  and  the  people 
on  her  side.     It  was  the  peasants  of  Lorraine  who  sent  he; 


232  GENERAL    HISTORY    OH 

Iq  succor  the  citizens  of  Orleans.  No  event  could  hliow  \i] 
a  stronger  lignt  the  popular  character  of  tliat  war,  and  the  feel- 
ing with  which  the  whole  country  engaged  in  it. 

Thus  the  nationality  of  France  began  to  be  formed.  Dovvri 
to  the  reign  of  ine  nouse  of  Valois,  the  feudal  character  pre- 
vailed in  France  ;  a  French  nation,  a  French  spirit,  French 
patriotism,  as  yet  had  no  existence.  With  the  princes  of  th<? 
house  of  Valois  begins  the  history  of  France,  properly  so 
called.25  ii  ^jjg  i,^  ^jjg  course  of  their  wars,  amid  the  various 
turns  of  their  fortune,  that,  for  the  first  time,  the  nobility,  the 
citizens,  the  peasants,  were  united  by  a  moral  tie,  by  the  tie  of 
a  common  name,  a  common  honor,  and  by  one  burning  desire 
to  overcome  the  foreign  invader.  We  must  not,  however,  at 
this  time,  expect  to  find  among  them  any  real  political  spirit, 
any  great  design  of  unity  in  government  and  institutions,  ac- 
cording to  the  conceptions  of  the  present  day.  The  unity  of 
France,  at  that  period,  dwelt  in  her  name,  in  her  rational  ho- 
nor, in  the  existence  of  a  national  monarchy,  no  matter  of  what 
character,  provided  that  no  foreigner  had  anything  to  do  with 
it.  It  was  in  this  way  that  the  struggle  against  the  English 
contributed  strongly  to  form  the  French  nation,  and  to  impel 
It  towards  unity. 

At  the  same  time  that  France  was  thus  forming  herself  in  a 
moral  point  of  view,  she  was  also  extending  herself  physi- 
cally, as  it  may  be  called,  by  enlarging,  fixing,  and  consoli- 
dating her  territory.  Tliis  was  the  period  of  the  incoipora- 
tion  of  most  of  the  provinces  which  now  constitute  France. 
Under  Charles  VII.,  [1422 — 1461]  after  the  expulsion  of  the 
English,  almost  all  the  provinces  which  they  had  occupied — 
Normandy,  Angoumois,  Touraine,  Poilou,  Saintonge,  etc., 
became  definitively  French.  Under  Louis  XI.,  [1461—  HSS] 
ten  provinces,  three  of  which  have  been  since  lost  and  regain- 
ed, were  also  united  to  France — Roussillon  and  Cerdagne, 
Burgundy,  Franche-Conte,  Picardy,  Artois,  Provence,  Maine, 
Anjou,  and  Perche.  Under  Charles  VIII.  and  Louis  XII 
[1483 — 1515]  the  successive  marriages  of  Anne  with  these 
two  kings  gave  her  Britany.  Thus,  at  the  same  period,  and 
luring  the  course  of  the  same  events,  France,  morally  as  well 
»e  physically,  acquired  at  once  strength  and  unity. 

Let  us  turn  from  the  nation  to  the  government,  and  we  shall 

*  Pnilip  VI.,  the  firpt  king  of  the  liouse  of  Valois,  came  to  tlic 
thrciae  in  1328. 


CiriLIZ-'TION    IN    MODERN    ECROPE.  233 

Bce  the  accomplishment  of  events  of  the  same  nntiirc  ;  v.c 
nhall  advance  towards  the  same  result.  The  French  go/ern 
ment  had  never  been  more  destitute  of  unity,  of  cohesion,  anC 
of  strength,  than  under  the  reign  of  Charles  VI.,  [1380 — 11.22) 
and  during  tlio  first  part  of  the  reign  of  Charles  VII.  At  thf 
nnd  of  tliis  reign,  [1461]  the  appearance  of  everything  v,\i\ 
changed.  There  were  evident  marks  of  a  power  wliich  wi.> 
confirming,  extending,  organizing  itself.  All  the  great  re- 
sources of  government,  taxation,  military  force,  and  adminis- 
tration of  justice,  were  created  on  a  great  scale,  and  almosi 
simultaneously.  This  was  the  period  of  the  formation  of  a 
standing  army,  of  permanent  militia,  and  of  compagnies-iPo'-' 
donnance,  consisting  of  cavalry,  free  archers,  and  infantry. 
By  these  companies,  Charies  VII.  re-established  a  degree  of 
order  in  the  provinces,  which  had  been  desolated  by  the  li- 
cense and  exactions  of  the  soldiery,  even  after  the  war  had 
cea.>ied.  All  contemporary  historians  expatiate  on  the  won- 
derful efl'ects  of  the  compagnies-d^ordonnance.  It  was  at  this 
period  that  the  taillc,  one  of  the  principal  revenues  of  the 
crown,  was  made  {)erpetual ;  a  serious  inroad  on  the  liberty 
of  the  people,  but  which  contributed  powerfully  to  the  regu- 
larity and  strength  of  the  government.26     At  the  same  time 

2*  The  general  term  taille,  or  tax,  seems  here  appropriated  to  the 

f)artiouiar  tax  made  perpetual  in  the  reign  of  Charles  VII.,  who 
i^equently  levied  money  by  his  own  authority.  In  general  the  kings 
did  not  claim  the  absolute  prerogative  of  imposing  taxes  without 
the  consent  of  the  States-general ;  though  they  often  in  emergen- 
cies violently  stretched  their  power.  The  tatJle  was  commonly 
assessed  by  respectable  persons  chosen  by  the  advice  of  the  pariah 

f)riests — a  privilege  of  importance  to  the  tax-payers,  who  were  al- 
owed  some  voice  in  the  repartition  of  the  tax.  This  is,  however, 
entirely  distinct  from  that  consent  of  the  people  to  the  tax  which 
the  theory  of  the  French  constitution  made  requisite.  It  is  assert- 
ed that  this  perpetual  latlle  was  granted  by  the  States-general  m 
1433,  but  this  does  not  appear  in  the  terms  of  any  ordinance. 

One  thing  is  certain,  that  this  tax,  whether  at  first  established 
w\th  or  without  tue  concurrence  of  the  States-general,  was  per- 
petual, and  managed  without  any  check  upon  the  crown.  The  two 
BCts  of  the  reign  of  Charles  VII.,  the  establishment  of  a  standing, 
military  force,  and  a  perpetual  tax  for  its  support,  were  the  great 
events  of  the  period,  and  fatal  to  the  liberties  of  France.  There' 
was  henceforth  but  little  check  to  the  increasing  power  of  the  crown. 
Th"?  nobles  lost  their  political  influence;  the  people  gained  noth- 
ing The  precedent  was  improved  by  succeeding  monarchs,  unti' 
.he  absolute  despotism  of  the  crown  was  completely  establisned 


^34  GENERAL    HISTORY    0? 

.he  great  instrument  of  power,  the  administration  of  justice, 
was  extended  and  organized  ;  parliaments  were  multiplied 
five  new  parliaments  having  been  instituted  in  a  short  space 
ot  time  : — under  Louis  XL,  the  parliaments  of  Greiiolile  (in 
1451),  of  Bordeaux  (in  U62),  and  of  Dijon  (in  14.77)  ;  untlcj 
Louis  XII  the  parliaments  of  Rouen  (in  14.99),  and  of  Aix 
(in  1501.)  The  parliament  of  Paris  also  acquired,  about  the 
same  time,  much  additional  importance  and  stability,  both  in 
regard  to  the  administration  of  justice,  and  the  superintend- 
ence of  the  police  within  its  jurisdiction. 

Thus,  in  relation  to  the  military  force,  the  power  of  taxa- 
tion, and  the  administration  of  justice,  that  is  to  say,  in  regard 
to  those  things  which  form  its  essence,  government  acquired 
m  France,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  a  character  of  unity, 
regularity,  and  permanence,  previously  unknown ;  and  the 
feudal  powers  were  finally  superseded  by  the  power  of  the 
state. 

At  the  same  time,  too,  was  accomplished  a  change  of  very 
different  character ;  a  change  not  so  visible,  and  which  has 
not  so  much  attracted  the  notice  of  historians,  but  still  more 
important,  perhaps,  than  those  which  have  been  mentioned  • 
— the  change  effected  by  Louis  XL  in  the  mode  of  governing 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  about  the  struggle  of  Louis  XI 
[1461-1483]  against  the  grandees  of  the  kingdom,  of  theii 
depression,  and  of  his  partiality  for  the  citizens  and  the  in- 
ferior classes.  There  is  truth  in  all  this,  though  it  has  been 
much  exaggerated,  and  though  the  conduct  of  Louis  XI.  to- 
wards the  different  classes  of  society  more  frequently  dis 
tiirbed  than  benefited  the  state.  But  he  did  something  of 
deeper  import.  Before  his  time  the  government  had  been 
carried  on  almost  entirely  by  force,  and  by  mere  physical 
means.  Persuasion,  address,  care  in  working  upon  men's 
minds,  and  in  bringing  them  over  to  the  views  of  the  govern- 
ment— in  a  word,  what  is  properly  called  policy — a  policy, 
indeed,  of  falsehood  and  deceit,  but  also  of  management  and 
prudence — had  hitherto  been  little  attended  to.  Louis  XI 
substituted  intellectual  for  material  means,  cunning  for  force, 
Italian  for  feudal  policy.  Take  the  two  men  wiiose  rivalry 
engrosses  this  period  of  our  history,  Charles  the  Bold  and 
Louis  XL  :  Charles  is  the  representative  of  the  old  mode  of 
governing ;  he  has  recor.rse  to  no  other  means  than  violence 
■te  constantly  appeals  to  arms;  he  i.s  uni>ble  to  act   with  pa 


CIVILIZATIOV    IN    MODERN    Et.  ROTE.  235 

iienco,  or  to  address  himself  to  the  dispositions  and  tempore 
of  men  in  orr'er  to  make  them  the  inflrumenls  of  his  designs, 
Louis  XI.,  on  the  contrary,  takes  pleasure  in  avoiding  the  use 
of  force,  and  in  gaining  an  ascendency  over  men,  by  conver- 
Halion  with  individuals,  and  by  skilfully  bringing  into  play 
their  interests  and  peculiarities  of  character.  It  was  not  thfi 
public  institutions  or  the  external  system  of  government  that 
he  changed  ;  it  was  the  secret  proceedings,  the  tactics,  of 
power.  It  was  reserved  for  modern  times  to  attempt  a  still 
greater  revolution  ;  to  endeavor  to  introduce  into  the  means, 
es  well  as  the  objects,  of  public  policy,  justice  in  place  of 
self-interest,  publicity  instead  of  cunning.  Still,  however,  a 
great  step  was  gained  by  renouncing  the  continued  use  of 
force,  by  calling  in  the  aid  of  intellectual  superiority,  by 
governing  through  the  understandings  of  men,  and  not  by  over- 
turning every  thing  that  stood  in  the  way  of  the  exercise  of 
power.  This  is  the  great  change  which,  among  all  his  errors 
and  crimes,  in  spite  of  the  perversity  of  his  nature,  and  solely 
by  the  strength  of  his  powerful  intellect,  Louis  XI.  has  the 
merit  of  having  begun. 

From  France  I  turn  to  Spain ;  and  there  I  find  movements 
of  the  same  nature.  It  was  also  in  the  fifteenth  century  that 
Spain  was  consolidated  into  one  kingdom.  At  this  time  an 
end  was  put  to  the  long  struggle  between  the  Christians  and 
Moors,  by  the  conquest  of  Grenada.  Then,  too,  the  Spanish 
territory  became  centralized :  by  the  marriage  of  Ferdinand 
the  Catholic,  and  Isabella,  the  two  principal  kingdoms,  Castile 
and  Arragon,  were  united  under  the  same  dominion.  In  the 
same  manner  as  in  France,  the  monarchy  was  extended  and 
confirmed.  It  was  supported  by  severer  institutions,  which 
bore  more  gloomy  names.  Instead  of  parliaments,  it  was  the 
inquisition  that  had  its  origin  in  Spain.  It  contained  thf 
germ  of  what  it  afterwards  became  ;  but  at  first  it  was  of  a 
political  rather  than  a  religious  nature,  and  was  destined  to 
maintain  civil  order  rather  than  defend  religious  faith.  The 
analogy  between  the  countries  extends  beyond  their  institu- 
tions ,  It  is  observable  even  in  the  persons  of  the  sovereigns. 
With  less  subtlety  of  intellect,  and  a  less  active  and  intriguing 
epirit,  Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  in  his  character  and  govern- 
ment, strongly  resembles  Louis  XI.  I  pay  no  regard  to  ar- 
bi  rary  comparisons  or  fanciful  parallels  ;  but   lere  the  analog} 


S3G  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

is  Strong,  and  observable  in  general  facts  as  well  as  in  min»;tG 
details. 

A  similar  analogy  may  be  discovered  .n  Germany.  It  w  as: 
in  the  middle  of  the  lifteenth  century,  rn  1438,  that  the  house 
of  Austria  came  to  the  empire ;  and  that  the  imperial  powei 
bcquired  a  permanence  which  it  had  never  before  possessed 
From  that  time  election  was  merely  a  sanction  given  to  here- 
ditary right.  At  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  MaximiJiaii 
I.  definitively  established  the  preponderance  of  his  liouse  and 
the  regular  exercise  of  the  central  authority  ;  Charles  VII 
was  the  first  in  France  who,  for  the  preservation  of  order, 
created  a  permanent  mililia ;  Maximilian,  too,  was  the  first  in 
his  hereditary  dominions,  who  accomplished  the  same  end  by. 
the  same  means.  Louis  XI.  had  established  in  France,  the 
post-olTice  for  the  conveyance  of  letters;  Maximilian  I.  intro- 
duced it  into  Germany.  In  the  progress  of  civilization  the 
same  steps  were  everywhere  taken,  in  a  similar  way,  for  the 
advantage  of  central  government. 

The  history  of  England  in  the  fifteenth  century  consists  ol 
two  great  events — the  war  with  France  abroad,  and  the  con- 
gest of  the  two  Roses  at  home.  These  two  wars,  though  dif- 
ferent in  their  nature,  were  attended  with  similar  results.  The 
contest  with  France  was  maintained  by  the  Englisli  peoplt 
with  a  degree  of  ardor  which  went  entirely  to  the  profit  of 
royalty.  The  people,  already  remarkable  for  the  prudence 
and  determination  with  which  they  defended  their  resources 
and  treasures,  surrendered  them  at  that  period  to  their  mon 
archs,  without  foresight  or  measure.  It  was  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  V.  that  a  considerable  tax,  consisting  of  custom-house 
duties,  was  granted  to  the  king  for  his  lifetime,  almost  at  the 
beginning  of  his  reign.  The  foreign  war  was  scarcely  ended, 
when  the  civil  war,  which  had  already  broken  out,  was  ear- 
ned on  ;  the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  disputed  the 
throne.  When  at  length  these  sanguinary  struggles  were 
brought  to  an  end,  the  English  nobility  were  ruined,  diminish- 
ed in  number,  and  no  longer  able  to  preserve  the  power  whicb 
khey  had  previously  exercised.  The  coalition  of  the  gieai 
barons  was  no  longer  able  to  govern  the  throne.  The  Tudors 
ascended  it ;  and  with  Henry  VII.,  in  1485,  begms  the  era 
>f  pol/tical  centralization,  the  triumph  of  royalty 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN      EUROPE  237 

Monarchy  did  not  establish  itself  in  Italy,  at  least  undo 
•Jiul  name  ;  but  this  made  little  difTerence  as  to  the  result.  It 
was  in  the  fifteenth  century  that  tho  fall  of  the  Italian  repub^ 
.ics  took  place.  Even  where  the  name  was  retained,  the 
power  beoame  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  one,  or  of  a  few 
families.  Tiie  spirit  of  republicanism  was  extinguished.  I\i 
the  north  of  Iidly,  almost  all  the  Lombaid  republics  merged 
in  the  Dutchy  ol  Milan.  In  1434,  Florence  fell  under  the 
dominion  0/  the  Medicis.  In  1464,  Genoa  became  subject  to 
Milan.  The  greater  part  of  the  republics,  great  and  small, 
yielded  to  the  powei  of  sovereign  houses  ;  and  soon  after 
wards  began  the  pretensions  of  foreign  sovereigns  to  the  do- 
minion  of  the  north  and  south  of  Italy  ;  to  the  Milanese  and 
kingdom  of  Naples. 


Indeed,  to  whatever  country  of  Europe  we  cast  our  eyes, 
whatever  portion  of  its  history  we  consider,  whether  it  relates 
to  the  nations  themselves  or  their  governments,  to  their  terri- 
tories or  their  institutions,  we  everywhere  see  the  old  ele- 
ments, the  old  forms  of  society,  disappearing.  Those  liber- 
ties which  were  founded  on  tradition  were  lost ;  new  powers 
arose,  more  regular  and  concentrated  than  those  which  pre- 
viously existed.  There  is  something  deeply  melancholy  in 
this  view  of  the  fall  of  the  ancient  liberties  of  Europe.  Even 
in  its  own  time  it  inspired  feelings  of  the  utmost  bitterness. 
In  France,  in  Germany,  and  above  all,  in  Italy,  the  patriots 
of  the  fifteenth  century  resisted  with  ardor,  and  lamented 
with  despair,  that  revolution  which  everywhere  produced  the 
rise  of  what  they  were  entitled  to  call  despotism.  We  must 
admire  their  courage  and  feel  for  their  sorrow  ;  but  at  tho 
same  time  wo  must  be  aware  that  this  revolution  was  not  only 
inevitable,  but  useful.  The  primitive  system  of  Europe — the 
old  feudal  and  municipal  liberties — had  failed  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  a  general  society.  Security  and  progress  are  esscr- 
lial  to  social  existence.  Every  system  which  does  not  pro- 
vide for  present  order,  and  progressive  advancement  for  the 
future,  is  vicious,  and  speedily  abandoned.  And  this  was 
the  fate  of  the  old  political  forms  of  society,  of  the  ancient 
liberties  of  Europe  in  the  fifteenth  century.  They  could  not 
give  to  society  either  security  or  progress  These  objects 
.laturally  became  sought  for  elsewhere ;  to  obtain  them,  re- 
course was  had  to  other  principles  and  other  means  :  and  this 


^88  GENERAL    HISTORY    UF 

is  the  import  of  all  the  facts  to  which  I  have  just  called  your 
attention. 

To  tliis  same  period  may  be  assigned  anotlier  circumstanc( 
which  lias  had  a  great  influence  on  the  political  history  ol 
Europe.     It  was  in  the  fifteenth  century  that  the  relations  of 
governments  with  each  other  began  to  be  frequent,  regular, 
gnd  permanent.    Now,  for  the  first  time,  became  formed  those 
great  combinations  by  means  of  alliance,  for  peaceful  as  well 
ua  warlike  objects,  which,  at  a  later  period,  gave  rise  to   the 
system  of  the  balance  of  power.     European  diplomacy  origi- 
nated in  the  fifteenth  century.     In  fact  you  may  see,  towards, 
its  close,  the  principal  powers  of  the  continent  of  Europe,  tho 
Popes,  the  Dukes  of  Milan,  the  Venetians,  the  German  Em- 
perors, and  the  Kings  of  France  and  Spain,  entering  into  a 
closer  correspondence  with  each  other  than  had  hitherto  ex- 
isted ;  negotiating,  combining,  and  balancing  their  various  in- 
terests     Thus  at  the  very  time  when  Charles  VIII.  set  on 
foot  his  expedition  to  conquer  tlie  kingdom  of  Naples,  a  great 
league  was  formed  against  him,  between  Spain,  the  Pope,  and 
the  Venetians.     The  league  of  Cambray   was   formed  some 
years  later  (in  1508),  against  the  Venetians.  The  holy  league 
directed  against  Louis  XII.  succeeded,  in  1511,  to  the  league 
of  Cambray.     All  these  combinations  had  their  rise  in  Italian 
policy ;  in  the  desire  of  diiferent  sovereigns  to  possess   its 
territory ;  and  in  the  fear  lest  any  of  them,  by  obtaining  an 
exclusive  possession,  should  acquire  an  excessive  preponde- 
rance.    This  new  order  of  tilings  was  very  favorable  to  the 
career  of  monarchy.     On  the  one  hand,  it  belongs  to  the  very 
nature  of  the  external  relations  of  states  that  they  can  be  con- 
ducted only  by  a  single  person,  or  by  a  very  small  number, 
and  that  they  require  a  certain  degree  of  secrecy  :  on  the  othej 
hand,  the  people  were  so  little  enlightened  that  the  conse- 
quences of  a  combination  of  this   kind  quite   escaped  them. 
As  it  had  no  direct  bearing  on  their  individual  or  domestic 
life,  they  troubled  themselves  little  about  it ;  and,  as  usual, 
left  such  transactions  to  the  discretion  of  the  central  govern- 
ment.    Thus  diplomacy,  in  its  very  birth,  fell  into  the  hands 
of  kings  ;  and  the  opinion,  tha».  it  belongs  to  them  exclusive- 
iy  ;  that  the  nation,  even  when  free,  and  possessed  of  the 
right  of  votmg  its  own  taxes,  and  interfering  in  the  manage- 
ment of  its  domestic  aflfairs,  has  no  right  to  intermeddle  m 
foreign  matters  ; — this  opinioi ,  I  say,  became  established  in 


CIVILIZATION    W    MODERN     EVROPE  239 

all  parts  of  Enrope,  as  a  settled  principle,  a  maxim  of  com- 
mon law.  Look  into  the  history  of  England  in  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries  ;  and  you  will  observe  the  great  in- 
fiiience  of  that  opinion,  and  the  obstacles  it  presented  to  the 
liberties  of  England  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth.  James  I.,  and 
Charles  1.  It  is  always  under  the  sanction  of  the  principle, 
that  peace  and  war,  commercial  relations,  and  all  foreign 
ajl'airs,  belong  to  the  royal  prerogative,  that  absolute  power 
defends  itself  against  the  rights  of  the  country.  The  people 
are  remarkably  timid  in  disputing  this  portion  of  the  preroga- 
tive ;  and  their  timidity  has  cost  them  the  dearer,  for  thin 
reason,  that,  from  the  commencement  of  the  period  into  which 
we  are  now  entering  (that  is  to  say,  the  sixteenth  century), 
the  history  of  Europe  is  essentially  diplomatic.  For  nearly 
three  centuries,  foreign  relations  form  the  most  important  part 
of  history.  The  domestic  affairs  of  countries  began  to  be 
regularly  conducted  ;  the  internal  government,  on  the  Con- 
tinent at  least,  no  longer  produced  any  violent  convulsions, 
and  no  longer  kept  the  public  mind  in  a  state  of  agitation  and 
excitement.  Foreign  relations,  wars,  treaties,  alliances,  alont 
occupy  the  attention  and  fill  tlie  page  of  history  ;  so  that  we 
find  the  destinies  of  nations  abandoned  in  a  great  measure  to 
the  royal  prerogative,  to  the  central  power  of  the  state. 

It  could  scarcely  have  happened  otherwise.  Civilization 
must  have  made  great  progress,  intelligence  and  politica' 
habits  must  be  widely  diffused,  before  the  public  can  interfere 
with  advantage  in  matters  of  this  kind.  From  the  sixteenth 
to  the  eighteenth  century,  the  people  were  far  from  being 
sudicicntly  advanced  to  dn  so.  Observe  what  occurred  in 
England,  under  James  I.,  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  His  son-in-law,  the  Elector  Palatine,  who  had  been 
elected  king  of  Bohemia,  had  lost  his  crown,  and  had  even 
been  stripped  of  his  hereditary  dominions,  the  Palatinate. 
Protestantism  everywhere  espoused  his  cause  ;  and,  on  this 
ground,  Eng'and  took  a  warm  interest  in  it.  There  was  a 
gic.it  manifestation  of  public  opinion  in  order  to  force  Jamee 
to  take  the  pari,  of  his  son-in-law,  and  obtain  for  him  the  res- 
toration of  the  Palatinate.  Parliament  insisted  violently  foi 
vrv  oromising  ample  means  to  carry  it  on.  James  was  in 
different  on  the  subject ;  he  made  several  attempts  to  nego- 
tiate, und  sent  some  troops  to  Germany  ;  he  then  told  parlia 
ment  that  he  required  jEPOO  000  sterling,  to  carry  on  the  wai 
^ith  any  chance  of  success      It  is  not  said,  and  indeed  it 


240  OE.SBRAL    HISTORY    OP 

does  not  appear,  that  his  estimate  was  exaggerated.  But  par- 
liament shrunk  back  with  astonishment  and  terror  at  the  sound 
of  such  a  sum,  and  could  hardly  be  prevailed  upon  to  vote 
j670,000  sterling,  to  reinstate  a  prince,  aud  re-conquer  a 
country  three  hundred  leagues  distant  from  England.  Such 
were  the  ignorance  and  political  incapacity  of  the  public  in 
affairs  of  this  nature  ;  they  acted  without  any  knowledge  of 
facts,  or  any  consideration  af  consequeiices.  How  then  could 
they  be  capable  of  interfering  in  a  regular  and  effectual  man- 
ner ?  This  is  the  cause  which  principally  contributed  to 
make  foreign  relations  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  central  pow- 
er ;  no  other  was  in  a  condition  to  conduct  then),  I  shall  not 
say  for  the  public  benefit,  which  was  very  far  from  being 
always  consulted,  but  with  any  thing  like  consistency  and 
good  sense. 

It  may  be  seen,  then,  that  in  whatever  point  of  view  wo 
regard  the  political  history  of  Europe  at  this  period — whether 
we  look  upon  the  internal  condition  of  different  nations,  or 
upon  their  relation  with  each  other — whether  we  consider  the 
means  of  warfare,  the  administration  of  justice,  or  the  levying 
of  taxes,  we  find  them  pervaded  by  the  same  character ;  we 
see  everywhere  the  same  tendency  to  centralization,  to  unity, 
to  the  formation  and  preponderance  of  general  interests  and 
public  powers.  This  was  the  hidden  working  of  the  fifteentV 
century,  which,  at  the  period  we  are  speaking  of,  had  not  yet 
produced  any  very  apparent  result,  or  any  actual  revolution 
in  society,  but  was  preparing  all  those  consequences  which 
afterwards  took  place. 


I  shall  now  bring  before  you  a  class  of  facts  of  a  different 
nature  ;  moral  facts,  such  as  stand  in  relation  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  human  mind  and  the  formation  of  general  ideas. 
In  these  again  we  shall  discover  the  same  phenomena,  and 
arrive  at  the  same  result. 

I  shall  begin  with  an  order  of  facts  which  has  often  engaged 
our  attention,  and  under  the  most  various  forms,  ha.s  always 
held  an  important  place  in  the  history  of  Europe — the  facta 
relative  to  the  Church.  Down  to  the  fifteenth  century,  the 
only  general  ideas  which  had  a  powerful  influence  on  the 
masses   were  those  connected   with  religion.     The   Church 


CIVlLIZATiON    IN    MCDERN    EUROPE  241 

Alone  was  invested  with  the  power  of  regulating,  promulgal 
ing,  and  prescribing  them.  Attempts,  it  is  true,  at  iiid<jpend- 
ence,  and  even  at  separation,  were  frequently  made  ;  and  the 
Church  had  much  to  do  to  orerconie  tlicm.  Down  to  this 
period,  however,  she  had  been  successfid.  Creeds  rejected 
by  the  Church  had  never  taken  any  general  or  permaneat 
hold  on  the  minds  of  the  people  :  even  the  Albigenses  had 
l)een  repressed.  Dissension  and  strife  were  incessant  in  the 
Church,  but  without  any  decisive  and  striking' result.  The 
dfleenth  century  opened  with  the  appearance  of  a  din'erent 
state  of  things.  New  ideas,  and  a  public  and  avowed  desire 
of  change  and  reformation,  began  to  agitate  the  Church  her- 
self. The  end  of  the  fourteenth  and  beginning  of  the  fifteenth 
century  were  marked  by  the  great  schism  of  the  west,  result- 
ing from  the  removal  of  the  papal  chair  to  Avignon,  and  the 
creation  of  two  popes,  one  at  Avignon,  and  the  other  at  Rome. 
'I'he  contest  between  these  two  papacies  is  what  is  called 
the  great  schism  of  the  west.  It  began  in  1378.  In  1409, 
the  Council  of  Pisa  endeavored  to  put  an  end  to  it  by  depos- 
ing the  two  rival  popes  and  electing  another.  But  instead  of 
ending  the  schism,  this  step  only  rendered  it  more  violent. 

There  were  now  three  popes  instead  of  two  ;  and  disorders 
and  abuses  went  on  increasing.  In  I4'14,  the  Council  of 
Constance  assembled,  convoked  by  desire  of  the  Emperor 
Sigismund.  Tliis  council  set  about  a  matter  of  far  more  im- 
portance than  the  nomination  of  a  new  pope  ;  it  undertook  the 
reformation  of  the  Church.  It  began  by  proclaiming  the  in- 
dissolubility of  the  universal  council,  and  its  superiority  over 
the  papal  power.  It  endeavored  to  establish  these  principles 
in  the  Church,  and  to  reform  the  abuses  which  had  crept  into 
it,  particularly  the  exa/nions  by  which  the  court  of  Rome  ob- 
tained money.  To  accomplish  this  object  the  council  appoint- 
ed what  we  should  call  a  commission  of  inquiry,  in  other 
words,  a  Reform  CoLege,  composed  of  deputies  to  the  coun- 
cil, chosen  in  the  different  Christian  nations.  This  college 
was  directed  to  inquire  into  the  abuses  which  polluted  the 
Church,  and  into  the  means  of  remedying  them,  and  to  make 
a  report  to  the  council,  in  order  that  it  might  deliberate  on  the 
p/nceedir.gs  to  be  adopted.  But  while  the  council  was  thus 
engaged,  the  question  was  started,  whether  it  could  proceed 
to  the  refonn  of  abuses  without  the  visible  concurrence  of  the 
head  of  the  Church,  without  the  sanction  of  the  pope.  It  was 
c?rried  in  the  negative  through  the  influence  of  »he   Romar 


242  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

party  supported  by  some  well-meaning  but  timid  imlividuHls 
The  council  elected  a  new  pope,  Martin  V.,  in  14' 17.  The 
pope  was  instructed  to  present,  on  his  part,  a  plan  for  the  re 
form  of  the  Cnurch.  This  plan  was  rejected,  and  the  council 
separated.  In  1431,  a  new  council  assembled  at  Bale  wvh 
iiie  same  design.  It  resumed  and  continued  the  reformirg 
labors  of  the  Council  of  Constance,  but  with  no  better  succesu 
Schism  broke  out  in  this  assembly  as  it  had  done  in  Chrisien- 
dam.  The  pope  removed  the  council  to  Ferrara,  ai,-d  after- 
wards to  Florence.  A  portion  of  the  prelates  refused  to  obey 
the  pope,  and  remained  at  Bale ;  and,  as  there  had  beer 
formerly  two  popes,  so  now  there  were  two  councils.  That 
of  Bale  continued  its  projects  of  reform  ;  named  as  its  pope, 
Felix  V.  ;  some  time  afterward  removed  to  Lausanne  ;  and 
dissolved  itself  in  1449,  without  having  effected  anything. 

In  this  manner  papacy  gained  the  day,  remained  in  posses- 
sion of  the  field  of  battle,  and  of  the  government  of  the  Church. 
The  council  could  not  accomplish  that  which  it  had  set  about; 
but  it  did  something  else  which  it  had  not  thought  of,  and 
which  survived  its  dissolution.  Just  at  the  time  the  Council 
of  Bale  failed  in  its  aitempts  at  reform,  sovereigns  were 
adopting  the  ideas  which  it  had  proclaimed,  and  some  of  the 
institutions  which  it  had  suggested.  In  France,  and  with  the 
decrees  of  the  Council  of  Bale,  Charles  VII.  formed  the  prag- 
matic sanction,  which  he  proclaimed  at  Bourges  in  1438  ;  it 
authorized  the  election  of  bishops,  the  suppression  of  aimates 
(or  first-fruits,)  and  the  reform  of  the  principal  abuses  introduc- 
ed into  the  Church.  The  pragmatic  sanction  was  declared  in 
France  to  be  a  law  of  the  state.  In  Germany,  the  Diet  of  May- 
ence  adopted  it  in  1439,  and  also  made  it  a  law  of  the  German 
empire.  What  spiritual  power  had  tried  without  success,  tem- 
poral power  seemed  determined  to  accomplish. 

But  the  projects  of  the  reformers  met  with  a  uew  reverse 
of  iortune.  As  the  council  had  failed,  so  did  the  pragmatit 
sanction.  It  perished  very  soon  in  Germany.  It  was  aban- 
doned by  the  Diet  in  14  48,  in  virtue  of  a  negotiation  with 
Nicholas  V.  In  1516,  Francis  I.  abandoned  it  also,  substitut- 
ing for  it  his  concordat  with  Leo  X.  The  reform  attempted 
ty  princes  did  not  succeed  belter  than  that  set  oi.  foot  by  the 
clergy.  But  we  must  rot  conclude  that  it  was  entirely  thrown 
away      In  like  manner  as  the  counci.'  had  done  things  which 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN    EUROPE 


248 


•timved  it,  so  the  pragmatic  sanction  had  enecis  which  sur 
vived  it  also,  and  will  be  found  to  make  an  impcirtant  figur» 
•n  modern  history.  The  principles  of  the  Council  of  Bile 
were  strong  and  fruitful.  Men  of  superior  minds,  and  of  en- 
ergetic characters,  had  adopted  and  maintained  them.  John 
'>f  Paris,  D'Ailly,  Gerson,  and  many  distinguished  men  of  th© 
fifteenth' century,  had  devoted  themselves  to  their  defence.  It 
was  in  vain  that  the  council  was  dissolved  ;  it  was  in  rain 
that  the  pragmatic  sanction  was  abandoned  ;  their  general 
doctrines  respectir\g  the  government  of  the  Church,  and  the 
reforms  which  were  necessary,  took  root  in  France.  They 
were  spread  abroad,  found  their  way  into  parliaments,  took  a 
strong  hold  of  the  public  mind,  and  gave  birth  first  to  the 
Jansenists,  and  then  to  the  Galileans.  This  entire  series  of 
maxims  and  efforts  tending  to  the  reform  of  the  Church,  which 
began  with  the  Council  of  Constance,  and  terminated  in  the 
four  propositions  of  Bossuet,  emanated  from  the  same  source, 
and  was  directed  to  the  same  object.^^  It  is  the  same  fact 
which  has  undergone  successive  transformations.  Notwith- 
standing the  failure  of  the  legal  attempts  at  reform  made  in 
the  fifteenth  century,  they  indirectly  had  an  immense  influence 
upon  the  progress  of  civilization ;  and  must  not  be  left  out  of 
its  history 

The  councils  were  right  in  trying  for  a  legal  reform,  for  it 
was  the  only  way  to  prevent  a  revolution.  Nearly  at  the  time 
when  the  Council  of  Pisa  was  endeavoring  to  put  an  end  to 
the  great  western  schism,  and  the  Council  of  Constance  to 
reform  the  Church,  the  first  attempts  at  popular  religious  re- 
form broke  out  in  Bohemia.  The  preaching  of  John  Huss, 
and  his  progress  as  a  reformer,  commenced  in  1404,  when  he 
began  to  teach  at  Prague.  Here,  then,  we  have  two  reforms 
going  on  side  by  side ;  the  one  in  the  very  bosom  of  the 

^  These  propositions,  drawn  up  by  Bossuet,  were  decreed  by  a 
convocation  of  the  French  clergy  assembled  by  Louis  XIV.,  in 
1682,  and  are  called  the  Quatuor  Propositiones  Cleri  Gallicani. 
They  declare  that  power  and  authority  are  given  by  God  to  the 
Vicar  of  Christ  in  spiritual,  but  not  in  temporal  things;  that  this 
power  is  limited  and  restrained  by  the  laws  of  the  Church  and 
general  councils;  and  that  the  sentence  of  the  pope  is  not  un 
chnngeable  unless  sanctioned  by  the  Church  Catholic.  These 
decrees  are  the  foundation  oi  the  independence  of  the  Gallicar 
Church. 

16 


J44  :  i      GENERAL    HISTORY    07 

Church,- — attempted  by  the  ecclesiastical  ariilocracy  itself,— 
cautious,  embarrassed,  and  timid  ;  the  other  originating  with- 
out the  Church,  and  directed  against  it, — violent,  passionate, 
and  impetuous.  ■  A  contest  began  between  these  two  powers, 
these  two  parties.  The  council  enticed  John  Huss  and  Je 
rome  of  Prague  to  Corstance,  and  condemned  them  to  i\\f 
flames  as  heretics  and  revolutionists.  These  events  are  per 
fectly  intelligible  .0  us  now.  We  can  very  well  understand 
this  simultaneous  existence  of  separate  reforms,  one  under- 
taki)n  by  governments,  the  other  by  the  people,  hostile  to  eacn 
other,  yet  springing  from  the  same  cause,  and  tending  to  the 
same  object,  and,  though  opposed  to  each  other,  finally  con- 
curring in  the  same  result.  This  is  what  happened  in  the 
fifteenth  century.  The  popular  reform  of  John  Huss  was 
stifled  for  the  moment ;  the  war  of  the  Hussites  broke  out  three 
or  four  years  after  the  death  of  their  master  ;  it  was  long  and 
violent,  but  at  last  the  empire  was  successful  in  subduing  it. 
The  failure  of  the  councils  in  the  work  of  reform,  their  not 
being  able  to  attain  the  object  they  were  aiming  at,  only  kept 
the  public  mind  in  a  state  of  fermentation  The  spirit  of  re- 
form still  existed  ;  it  waited  but  for  an  opportunity  again  to 
break  out,  and  this  it  found  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  Had  the  reform  undertaken  by  the  councils  been 
brought  to  any  good  issue,  perhaps  the  popular  reform  would 
have  been  prevented. .  But  it  was  impossible  that  one  or  tht 
other  of  them  should  not  succeed,  for  their  coincidence  showt 
iheir  necessity. 

Such,  then,  is  the  state,  in  respect  to  religious  cieed?,  in 
which  Europe  was  left  by  the  fifteenth  century :  an  aristocra- 
tic reform  attempted  without  success,  with  a  popular  suppress 
ed  reform  begun,  but  still  ready  to  break  out  anew. 

It  was  not  solely  to  religious  creeds  that  the  human  mind 
was  directed,  and  busied  itself  about  at  this  period.  It  was 
in  the  course  of  the  fourteenth  century,  as  you  all  know,  thai 
Greek  and  Roinan  antiquity  was  (if  I  may  use  the  expres 
sion)  restored  to  Europe.  You  know  with  what  ardor  Dante, 
Petrarch,  Boccacio,  and  all  their  contemporaries,  sought  for 
Greek  and  Latin  manuscripts,  published  them,  and  spread 
ihem  abroad  ;  and  what  general  joy  was  produced  by  the 
smallest  discovery  in  this  branch  of  learning.  It  was  in  the 
midst  of  this   excitement  that   the  classical  school  took  it? 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  24ft 

.'iee ;  a  school  which  has  performed  a  much  more  important 

Rart  in  the  deveU)pment  of  the  human  mind  than  has  general- 
/  been  ascribed  to  it.  But  we  must  be  cautious  of  attaching 
lo  this  term,  classical  school,  the  meaning  given  to  it  at  pre- 
Bent.  It  had  to  do,  in  those  days,  with  matle'-s  very  different 
from  literary  systems  and  disputes.  The  cla-^sical  school  of 
that  period  inspired  its  disciples  with  admiration,  not  only  foi 
the  writings  of  Virgil  and  Homer,  but  for  the  entire  frame  of 
ancient  society,  for  its  institutions,  its  opinions,  ita  philoso 
phy,  as  well  as  its  literature.  Antiquity,  it  must  be  allowed, 
vyhether  as  regards  politics,  philosophy,  or  literature,  was 
g  eatly  superior  to  the  Europe  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
centuries.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  it  siiould  have 
exercised  so  great  an  influence  ;  that  lofty,  vigorous,  elegant, 
and  fastidious  minds  should  have  been  disgusted  with  the 
coarse  manners,  the  confused  ideas,  the  barbarous  modes  of 
their  own  time,  and  should  have  devoted  themselves  with  en« 
thusiasm,  and  almost  with  veneration,  to  the  study  of  a  state 
of  society,  at  once  more  regular  and  more  perfect  than  their 
own.  Thus  was  formed  that  school  of  bold  thinkers  which 
appeared  at  the  commencement  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and 
in  which  prelates,  jurists,  and  men  of  learning  were  united 
by  common  sentiments  and  common  pursuits. 

In  the  midst  of  this  movement  happened  the  taking  of  Con- 
stantinople by  the  Turks,  1453,  the  fall  of  the  Eastern  em- 
pire, and  the  influx  of  the  fugitive  Greeks  into  Italy.  These 
brought  with  them  a  greater  knowledge  of  antiquity,  nume- 
rous manuscripts,  and  a  thousand  new  means  of  studying  the 
-civilization  of  the  ancients.  You  may  easily  imagine  how 
this  must  have  redoubled  the  admiration  and  ardor  of  the 
classic  school.  This  was  the  most  brilliant  period  of  the 
Church,  especially  in  Italy,  not  in  respect  of  political  power, 
but  of  wealth  and  luxury.  The  Church  gave  herself  up  to 
all  the  pleasures  of  an  indolent,  elegant,  licentious  civiliza- 
tion ;  to  a  taste  for  letters,  the  arts,  and  social  and  physical 
enjoyments.  Look  a*  the  way  in  which  the  men  who  played 
the  greatest  political  and  literary  parts  at  that  period  passed 
their  lives ;  Cardinal  Bembo,  for  example  ;  and  you  will  bb 
iorprised  by  the  mixture  which  it  exhibits  of  luxurious  effemi- 
uacy  and  intellectual  culture,  of  enervated  manners  and  men 
tal  vigor  In  surveying  this  ptriod,  indeed,  when  we  look  at 
the  state  of  opinions  and  of  social  relations,  we  might  imagine 
lurselves  living  a  nong  the  French  of  the  eighteenth  century 


246  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

There  was  the  same  desire  for  the  progress  of  intelligence, 
and  for  the  acquirement  of  new  ideas ;  the  same  taste  for  aii 
agreeable  and  easy  life,  the  same  luxury,  the  same  licentious- 
ness ;  there  was  the  same  waat  of  political  energy  and  of 
moral  principles,  combined  with  singular  sincerity  and  activity 
of  mind.  The  literati  of  the  fifteenth  century  stood  in  the 
same  relation  to  the  prelates  of  the  Church  as  the  men  of 
letters  and  philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  did  to  the  nobility. 
They  had  the  same  opinions  and  manners,  lived  agreeably 
together,  and  gave  themselves  no  uneasiness  about  the  storms 
;hat  were  brewing  round  them.  The  prelates  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  Cardinal  Bembo  among  the  re3t,  no  more  foresaw 
Luther  and  Calvin,  than  the  courtiers  of  Louis  XIV.  foresaw 
the  French  revolution.  The  analogy  between  the  two  casea 
is  striking  and  instructive. 

We  observe,  then,  three  great  facts  in  the  moral  order  ol 
society  at  this  period  ;  on  one  hand,  an  ecclesiastical  reform 
attempted  by  the  Church  itself;  on  another  a  popular,  religious 
reform ;  and  lastly,  an  intellectual  revolution,  which  formed  a 
school  of  free-thinkers  ;  and  all  these  transformations  were 
prepared  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest  political  change  that  has 
ever  taken  place  in  Europe,  in  the  midst  of  the  process  of  the 
centralization  of  nations  and  governments. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  period  in  question  was  rIso  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  for  the  display  of  physical  activitj 
among  men.  It  was  a  period  of  voyages,  travels,  enterprises 
discoveries,  and  inventions  of  every  kind.  It  was  the  time  of 
the  great  Portuguese  expedition  along  the  coast  of  .\frica  ;  of 
the  discovery  of  the  new  passage  to  India  by  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  by  Vasco  de  Gama  ;  of  the  discovery  of  America, 
by  Christopher  Columbus ;  of  the  wonderful  extension  of 
European  commerce.  A  thousand  new  inventions  started  up; 
others  already  known,  but  confined  within  a  narrow  sphere^ 
became  popular  and  in  general  use.  Gunpowder  changed  the 
system  of  war  ;  the  compass  changed  the  system  of  naviga 
lion.  Painting  in  oil  was  invented,  and  filled  Europe  with 
masterpieces  of  art.  Engraving  on  copper,  invented  in  1406, 
multiplied  and  difiused  them.  Paper  made  of  linen  became 
common.  Finally,  between  1436  and  1452,  was  invented 
priming; -printing,  the  theme  of  eo  rainv  declamations  und 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  247 

oonimon -places,  but  to  whose  merits  and  effect  no  common- 
p'aces  or  declamations  will  ever  be  able  to  do  justice. 

From  all  this,  some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  greatness 
and  activity  of  the  fifteenth  century  ;  a  greatness  which,  at  the 
lime,  was  not  very  apparent ;  an  activity  of  which  the  results 
did  not  immediately  take  place.  Violent  reforms  seemed  to 
ail  ;  governments  acquired  stability.  It  might  have  been 
supposed  that  society  was  now  about  to  enjoy  the  benefits  of 
better  order,  and  more  rapid  progress.  The  mighty  revolu- 
lioiis  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  at  nand  ;  the  fifteenth  rcn- 
tury  prepared  them. — Thoy  ahall  be  the  subject  of  the  follow- 
ing lecture. 


LECTURE  XII 

THE    REFORMATION. 

I  HAVE  often  referred  to  and  lamented  the  disorder,  tiit 
stiaoUc  situation  of  European  society  ;  I  have  complained  ol 
the  difficulty  of  comprenending  and  describing  a  state  of  eo- 
cieiy  so  loose,  so  scattered,  and  incoherent ;  and  I  have  kepi 
you  waiting  with  impatience  for  the  period  of  general  inter- 
ests, order,  and  social  union.  This  period  we  have  now 
reached  ;  but,  in  treating  of  it,  we  encounter  a  difficulty  of 
another  kind.  Hitherto,  we  have  found  it  difficult  to  connect 
historical  facts  one  with  another,  to  class  them  together,  to 
se'^e  their  common  features,  to  discover  their  points  of  re- 
semblance. The  case  is  diflerent  in  modern  Europe  ;  all  the 
elements,  all  the  incidents  of  social  life  modify,  act  and  re-acl 
upon  each  other  ;  the  mutual  relations  of  men  are  much  more 
numerous  and  complicated  ;  so  also  are  their  relations  with 
the  govermnent  and  the  state,  the  relations  of  stales  with 
each  other,  and  all  the  ideas  and  operations  of  the  human 
mind.  In  the  periods  through  which  we  have  already  travel- 
led, we  have  found  a  great  number  of  facts  which  were  insu- 
lated, foreign  to  each  other,  and  without  any  reciprocal  in- 
fluence. From  this  time,  however,  we  find  nothing  insulated  ; 
all  things  press  upon  one  another,  and  become  modified  and 
changed  by  their  mutual  contact  and  friction.  What,  let  me 
ask,  can  be  more  difficult  than  to  seize  the  real  point  of  unity 
in  the  midst  of  such  diversity,  to  determine  the  direction  of 
such  a  widely  spread  and  complicated  movement,  to  sum  up 
this  prodigious  number  of  various  and  closely  connected  ele- 
ments, to  point  out  at  last  the  generaL  and  leading  fact  which 
is  the  siini  of  a  long  series  of  facts  ;  which  characterizes  an 
era,  and  is  ihe  true  expression  of  its  influence,  and  of  the  par 
it  has  performed  in  the  history  of  civilization  ?  You  will  be 
lille  to  measure  at  a  glance  the  extent  of  this  difliculty,  in  the 
gieat  event  which  is  now  to  engage  our  attention 

Tu  the  twelfth  century  we  me*-  with  an  event  which  waj 


CIVILIZATION    IN     MODERN    EUROPE  24ft 

^ligious  in  its  origin  if  not  in  its  nature  ;  I  mean  tlie  Cm 
jades.  Notwithstanding  the  greatness  o*"  this  event,  its  lonj, 
hiration,  and  the  variety  of  incidents  which  it  brougn* 
al)out,  it  was  easy  enough  for  us  to  discover  its  general  char 
atier,  and  to  determine  its  influence  with  some  degree  of  pre 
vision. 


We  have  now  to  consider  the  religious  revolution  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  which  is  commonly  called  the  Reforma- 
tion. Let  me  be  permitted  to  say  in  passing,  that  I  shall  use 
this  word  reformation  as  a  simple  ordinary  term,  synonymous 
with  religious  revolution,  and  without  attaching  i<  to  any 
opinion.  You  must,  I  am  sure,  foresee  at  once,  how  difficuli 
it  is  to  discover  the  real  character  of  this  great  crisis,  and  to 
explain  in  a  general  manner  what  has  been  its  nature  and  ilR 
•ifTects. 

The  period  of  our  inquiry  must  extend  from  the  beginn.ng 
af  the  sixteenth  to  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century ;  for 
ihis  period  embraces,  so  to  speak,  the  life  of  this  event  from 
its  birth  to  its  termination.  All  historical  events  have  in  some 
sort  a  determinate  career.  Their  consequences  are  prclonged 
to  infinity;  they  are  connected  with  all  the  past  and  all  the 
future  ;  but  it  is  not  the  less  true,  on  this  account,  that  they 
have  a  definite  and  limited  existence  ;  that  they  have  their 
origin  and  their  increase,  occupy  with  their  development  a 
certain  portion  of  time,  and  then  diminish  and  disappear  from 
tlie  scene,  to  make  waj  for  some  new  event  which  runs  a 
•similar  course 

The  precise  date  A'hich  may  be  assigned  to  the  Reforma 
tion  is  not  of  much  importance.  We  may  take  the  year  1520 
when  Luther  publicly  burnt  at  Wittemberg  the  bull  of  Leo  X., 
containing  his  condemnation,  and  thus  formally  separated 
himself  from  the  Romish  Church.  The  interval  between  this 
period  and  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the  year 
64'8,  when  the  treaty  of  Westphalia  was  concluded,  compre- 
ftends  the  life  of  the  Reformation.  That  this  is  the  case,  may 
bo  thus  proved.  The  first  and  greatest  eflect  of  the  religious 
revolution  was  to  create  in  Europe  Iwo  classes  of  states,  the 
Catholic  and  the  Protestant,  to  set  them  against  each  othet 
iud  force  them  into  hostilities.     With  many  vicissitudes,  th< 


260  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Struggle  between  these  two  parties  lasted  from  the  beginning- 
of  the  sixteenth  century  to  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth.  I', 
was  by  the  treaty  of  Westphalia,  in  1648,  that  the  Catholic 
and  Protestant  states  reciprocally  acknowledged  each  other, 
and  engaged  to  live  in  amity  and  peace,  without  regard  to 
difference  of  religion.  After  this,  from  1648,  difference  of 
religion  ceased  to  be  the  leading  principle  of  the  classification 
of  states,  of  their  external  policy,  their  relations  and  alliances. 
Down  to  that  time,  notwithstanding  great  variations,  Europe 
was  essentially  divided  into  a  Catholic  league  and  a  Protes- 
tant league.  After  the  treaty  of  Westphalia  this  distinction 
disappeared  ;  and  alliances  or  divisions  among  states  took 
place  from  considerations  altogether  foreign  to  religious  belief 
At  this  point,  therefore,  the  preponderance,  or,  in  other  words, 
the  career  of  the  Reformation  came  to  an  end,  although  iis 
consequences,  instead  of  decreasing,  continued  to  develop 
themselves. 


Let  us  now  take  a  rapid  survey  of  this  career,  and  merely 
mentioning  names  and  events,  point  out  its  course.  You  will 
see  from  this  simple  indication,  from  this  dry  and  incomplete 
outline,  what  must  be  the  difficulty  of  summing  up  a  series  of 
such  various  and  complicated  facts  into  one  general  fact ;  of 
determining  what  is  the  true  character  of  the  religious  revo- 
lution of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  of  assigning  to  it  its  true 
part  in  the  history  of  civilization. 

The  moment  in  which  the  Reformation  broke  out  is  remark- 
able for  its  political  importance.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  struggle  between  Francis  and  Charles  V. — between 
France  and  Spain ;  a  struggle  at  first  for  the  possession  of 
Italy,  but  afterwards  for  the  German  empire,  and  finally  for 
preponderance  in  Europe.  It  was  the  moment  in  which  the 
house  of  Austria  elevated  itself  and  became  predominant  in 
Europe.  It  was  also  the  moment  in  which  England,  throu^'K 
Henry  VIII.,  interfered  in  continental  politics,  more  regu- 
larly, permanently  and  extensively  than  she  had  ever  done 
before 

If  we  follow  the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century  in  France 
we  shall  find  i*  entirely  occupied  by  the  great  religious  wars 
between  Protestants  and  Cath'dics  ;  wars  which  became  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  261 

means  and  the  occasion  of  a  new  attempt  of  the  great  i  obles 
lo  repossess  themselves  of  the  power  which  they  had  lost,  and 
to  obtain  an  ascendency  over  the  sovereign.      This  was  tht* 

folitical  meaning  of  the  religious  wars  of  France,  of  thf 
iCague,  of  the  struggle  between  the  houses  of  Guise  and  Vo 
loie, — a  struggle  which  was  put  an  end  to  by  the  accession 
of  Henry  IV. 

In  Spain,  the  revolution  of  the  United  Provinces  broke  oul 
nl>out  the  middle  of  the  reign  of  Philip  II.  The  inquisition 
on  one  hand,  and  civil  and  religious  liberty  on  the  other,  made 
these  provinces  the  theatre  of  war  under  the  names  of  the 
Duke  of  Alva  and  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Perseverance  and 
prudence  secured  the  triumph  of  liberty  in  Holland,  but  il 
perished  in  Spain,  where  absolute  power,  ecclesiastical  and 
jivil,  reigned  without  control 

In  England,  the  circumstances  to  be  noted  are,  the  reigns 
of  Maj-y  and  Elizabeth  ;  the  struggle  of  Elizabeth,  as  head  of 
the  Protestant  interests,  against  Philip  II. ;  the  accession  of 
James  Stuart  to  the  throne  of  England  ;  and  the  rise  of  the 
great  dispute  between  the  monarchy  and  the  people. 

About  the  same  time  we  note  the  creation  of  new  powers  in 
the  north  Sweden  was  raised  into  existence  by  Gustavus 
Vasa,  in  1523.  Prussia  was  created  by  the  secularization 
of  the  Teutonic  order.  The  northern  powers  assumed  a  place 
in  the  politics  o  Europe  which  they  had  not  occupied  before, 
and  the  importance  of  which  soon  afterwards  showed  itself 
in  the  thirty  years'  war. 

I  now  come  back  to  France,  to  note  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIII  ;  the  change  in  the  internal  administration  of  this  coun- 
try effected  by  Cardinal  Richelieu  ;  the  relations  of  France 
with  Germany,  and  the  support  which  she  afforded  to  the 
Protestant  party.  In  Germany,  during  the  latter  part  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  there  was  the  war  with  the  Turks  ;  in  the 
beginning  of  the  seventeenth,  the  thirty  years'  war,  the  greatest 
of  modern  events  in  eastern  Europe  ;  Gustavus  Adolphus, 
Wallenstein,  Tilly,  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  the  Duke  of 
Weimar,  are  the  greatest  names  which  Germany  at  this  timo 
30uld  boast  of. 

At  tiie  same  period,  in  France,  took  place  the  accession 


252  GENERAL    HISTORY    OP  i 

of  Louis  XIV.  and  the  commencement  of  he  Fronde,  in 
England  broke  out  the  great  revolution,  or,  as  it  is  someiinica 
improperly  called,  the  grand  rebellion,  which  dethroned 
Charles  I. 

In  this  survey,  I  have  only  glanced  at  the  most  promineu 
events  of  history,  events  which  everybody  has  heard  of;  yoo 
eoQ  their  number,  their  variety,  tlieir  importance.  If  we  seek 
for  events  of  another  kind,  events  less  conspicuous  and  less 
distinguished  by  great  names,  we  shall  find  them  not  less 
Bbundanl  during  this  period  ;  a  period  remarkable  for  tht 
great  changes  which  took  place  in  the  political  institutions  of 
almost  every  country  ;  the  period  in  which  pure  monarchy 
prevailed  in  most  of  the  great  states,  while  in  Holland  there 
arose  the  most  powerful  republic  in  Europe  ;  and  in  England 
constitution*  1  monarchy  achieved,  or  nearly  achieved,  a  final 
triumph.  Then,  in  the  Church,  it  was  during  this  period  thai 
the  old  Monastic  orders  lost  almost  all  their  political  power, 
and  were  replaced  by  a  new  order  of  a  different  character, 
and  wnose  importance,  erroneously  perhaps,  is  considered 
much  superior  to  that  of  its  precursors, — I  mean  the  Jesuits. 
At  the  same  period  the  Council  of  Trent  obliterated  all  that 
remained  of  the  influence  of  the  Councils  of  Constance  and 
Bale,  and  secured  the  definitive  ascendency  uf  the  court  of 
Rome  in  ecclesiastical  affairs.  Leaving  the  Church,  and  tak- 
ing a  passing  glance  at  the  philosophy  of  the  ago,  at  the  un- 
fettered career  of  the  human  mind,  we  observe  two  men. 
Bacon  and  Descartes,  the  authors  of  the  greatest  philosophi- 
cal revolution  which  the  modern  world  has  undergone,  the 
chiefs  of  the  two  schools  which  contended  for  supremacy.  It 
was  in  this  period  loo  that  Italian  literature  shone  forth  in  its 
fullest  spltJidor,  while  that  of  France  and  England  was  still 
in  its  infancy.  Lastly,  it  was  in  this  period  that  the  colonial 
system  of  Europe  had  its  origin  ;  that  great  colonies  were 
founded  ;  and  that  commercial  activity  and  enterprise  were 
carried  to  an  extent  never  before  known. 

Thus,  Mnder  whatever  point  of  view  we  consider  this  era 
we  find  its  political,  ecclesiastical,  philosophical,  and  literarj 
events,  more  numorous,  varied,  and  important,  than  in  any  of 
the  preceding  ages.  The  activity  of  the  human  mind  dis- 
played itself  in  every  way  ;  in  the  relations  of  men  witl»  eact 
ither — in  their  rctations  with  the  governing  powers — ii"   llic 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPK.  263 

relations  of  slates,  and  in  the  intellectual  labors  of  individuals. 
In  short,  it  was  the  age  of  great  men  and  of  great  things. 
Vet,  among  the  great  events  of  this  period,  the  religious  rovo- 
.ution  which  now  engages  our  attention  was  the  greatest.  It 
was  the  leading  fact  of  the  period  ;  the  fact  which  gives  it 
its  name,  and  determines  its  character.  Among  the  many 
powerful  causes  which  have  produced  so  many  powerful 
effects,  the  Reformation  was  the  most  powerful ;  it  was  thai 
10  which  all  the  others  contributed  ;  that  which  has  modified, 
or  been  modified  by,  all  the  rest.  The  task  which  wo  havo 
now  to  perform,  then,  is  to  review,  with  precision,  this  event ; 
to  examine  this  cause,  which,  in  a  period  of  the  greatest 
causes,  produced  the  greatest  effects — this  event,  which,  in 
this  period  of  great  events,  prevailed  over  all  the  rest. 

You  must,  at  once,  perceive  how  difficult  it  is  to  link  to- 
gether facts  so  diversified,  so  immense,  and  so  closely  con- 
nected, into  one  great  historical  unity.  It  must,  however,  be^ 
done  ;  when  events  are  once  consummated,  when  they  have 
become  matter  of  history,  the  most  important  business  is  then 
to  be  attempted ;  that  which  man  most  seeks  for  are  general 
facts — the  linking  together  of  causes  and  effects.  This  is 
what  I  may  call  the  immortal  portion  of  history,  which  all 
generations  must  study,  in  order  to  understand  the  past  as  well 
as  the  present  time.  This  desire  after  generalization,  of  obtain- 
ing rational  results,  is  the  most  powerful  and  noblest  of  all 
our  intellectual  desires  ;  but  we  must  beware  of  being  satis- 
fied with  hasty  and  incomplete  generalizations  No  pleasure 
is  more  seducing  than  that  of  indulging  ourselves  in  determin- 
ing on  the  spot,  and  at  first  sight,  the  general  character  and 
fierinanent  results  of  an  era  or  an  event.  The  human  intel 
ect,  like  the  human  will,  is  eager  to  be  in  action,  impatient 
of  obstacles,  and  desirous  of  coming  to  conclusions.  It  wil- 
lingly f(;Tgels  such  facts  as  impede  and  constrain  its  ope- 
rations ;  but  while  it  forgets,  it  cannot  destroy  them ;  they 
still  live  to  convict  it  of  error  at  some  after  period.  There  ic 
only  one  way  of  escaping  this  danger ;  it  is  by  a  resolute  and 
dogged  study  of  facts,  till  their  meaning  is  exhausted,  before 
attempting  to  generalize,  or  coming  to  conclusions  respecting 
their  effects.  Facts  are,  for  the  intellect,  what  the  rules 
9f  morals  are  for  the  will.  The  mind  must  be  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  facts,  and  must  know  their  \f  eight ;  and  it  is 
only  when  she  has  fulfilled  this  duty — when  she  has  com 
piClely  travc'sed,  in  every  direction,  the  ground  of  investiga 


254  GENERAL    HISTORY    07 

►ion  intl  inquiry — that  she  is  permitted  to  spread  her  wings 
and  taKe  her  flight  towards  that  higher  region,  whence  sht 
may  survey  all  things  in  their  general  bearings  and  resuUs 
If  ehe  endeavor  to  ascend  prematurely,  without  having  firsl 
acquired  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  territory  which  she  de- 
sires to  contemplate  from  above,  she  incurs  the  mo&i  immineat 
risk  of  error  and  downfall.  As,  in  a  calculation  of  figures 
an  error  at  the  outset  leads  to  others,  ad  infinitum^  so,  in  his- 
tory, if  we  do  not,  in  the  first  instance,  take  eveiy  fact  into 
account — if  we  allow  ourselves  to  indulge  in  a  spirit  of  pre- 
cipitate generalization — it  is  impossible  to  tell  how  far  we 
may  be  led  astray  from  the  truth. 

In  these  observations,  I  am,  in  some  measure,  putting  you 
on  your  guard  against  myself.  In  this  course  I  have  been 
able  to  do  little  more  than  make  some  attempts  at  generaliza- 
tion, and  take  some  general  views  of  facts  which  we  had  not 
studied  closely  and  together.  Being  now  arrived  at  a  period 
where  this  task  is  much  more  difficult,  and  the  chances  of 
error  greater  than  before,  I  think  it  necessary  to  make  you 
aware  of  the  danger,  and  warn  you  against  my  own  specula- 
tions. Having  done  so,  I  shall  now  continue  them,  and  treat 
the  Reformation  in  the  same  way  as  I  have  done  other  events 
I  shall  endeavor  to  discover  its  leading  fact,  to  describe  its 
general  character,  and  to  show  the  part  which  this  great  event 
ha'*  performed  in  the  process  of  European  civilization. 

Vou  remember  the  situation  in  which  we  left  Europe,  at 
the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century.  We  saw,  in  the  course  of 
it,  two  great  attempts  at  religious  revolution  or  reform ;  an  at- 
tempt h.\  legal  reform  by  the  councils,  and  an  attempt  at  revo- 
lutionary reform,  in  Bohemia,  by  the  Hussites  ;  we  saw  both 
these  stifled  and  rendered  abortive  ;  and  yet  we  concluded 
ihat  the  event  was  one  which  could  not  be  staved  ofl",  but  that 
it  must  necessarily  reapp  sar  in  one  shape  or  another  ;  and  that 
what  the  fifteenth  century  attempted  would  be  inevitably  ac- 
complished by  the  sixteenth.  I  shall  not  enter  into  any  de- 
tails respecting  the  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, which  I  consider  as  being  generally  known.  I  shall 
confine  myself  solely  to  the  consideration  of  its  general  in- 
fluence on  the  'lestinies  of  mankind. 

In  the  inquiries  which  have  been  made  into  the  causei 
vifiiich  produced  this  great  event,  the  enemiet^  o(  the  Kefor 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE  255 

mation  have  imputed  it  to  accidents  and  misch«nccs,  .n  tht 
course  of  civilization  ;  for  instance,  to  the  sale  of  indulgences 
having  been  intrusted  to  the  Dominicans,  and  excited  the 
jealousy  of  the  Augustines.  Luther  was  an  Augustine  ;  and 
this,  therefore,  was  the  moving  power  which  put  the  Refor 
mation  in  action.  Others  have  iscribed  it  to  the  ambition  of 
MOveieigns — to  their  rivalry  with  the  ecclesiastical  power,  and 
U»  liie  avidity  of  the  lay  nobility,  who  wished  to  take  posscs- 
«i(>n  01  the  property  of  the  Church.  In  this  mani.er  the  Re-* 
(bi mation  lias  been  accounted  for,  by  looking  at  the  evil  side 
of  nnnian  nature  and  human  affairs  ,  by  having  recourse  to 
the  piivate  interests  and  selfish  passions  of  individuals. 

On  tne  other  hand,  the  friends  and  partisans  of  the  Refor- 
mation have  endeavored  to  account  for  it  by  the  pure  desire 
of  efleciually  reforming  the  existing  abuses  of  the  Church. 
They  have  represented  it  as  a  redress  of  religious  grievances, 
as  an  enterprise  conceived  and  executed  with  the  sole  design 
of  re-cojistituting  the  Church  in  its  primitive  purity.  Neither 
of  these  explanations  appears  to  me  well  founded.  There  is 
more  truth  in  the  latter  than  in  the  former ;  at  leasi,  the  cause 
assigned  is  greater,  and  in  better  proportion  to  the  extent  and 
importance  of  the  event ;  but,  still,  I  do  not  consider  it  as  cor- 
rect. Ill  my  opinion,  the  Reformation  neither  was  an  acci 
dent,  the  result  of  some  casual  circumstance,  or  some  per- 
sonal interests,  nor  arose  from  unmingled  views  of  religious 
improvement,  the  fruit  of  Utopian  humanity  and  truth.  It  had 
a  more  powerful  cause  than  all  these ;  a  general  cause,  to 
which  all  the  others  were  subordinate.  It  was  a  vast  effort 
made  by  the  human  mind  to  achieve  ,t3  freedom;  it  was  a 
new  born  desire  which  it  felt  to  think  and  judge,  freely  and 
independently,  of  facts  and  opinions  which,  till  then,  Europe 
received,  or  was  considered  bound  to  receive,  from  the  hands 
of  authority.  It  was  a  great  endeavor  to  emancipate  human 
reason  ;  and  to  call  things  by  their  right  names,  it  was  an  in- 
surrection of  the  human  mind  against  the  absolute  power  of 
spiritual  order.  Such,  in  my  opinion,  was  the  true  character 
•tnd  .eading  principle  of  the  Reformation. 


When  we  consider  the  state  of  the  human  mind,  at  thia 
M\w,  on  one  hand,  and  the  state  of  the  spiritual  power  of  the 
Church,  which  had  the  government  of  the  human  mind,  ot 
the  other,  a  double  fact  presents  itself  to  our  notice 


256  GENERAL    HI8T0RV    CB 

In  looking  at  the  human  mind,  we  observe  much  greatei  ac- 
tivity, and  a  much  greater  desire  to  develop  its  powers,  thai' 
it  had  ever  felt  before.  This  new  activity  was  the  result  of 
various  causes  which  had  been  accumulating  for  ages.  Fos 
example,  there  were  ages  in  which  heresies  sprang  up,  eub* 
sisted  for  a  time,  and  then  gave  way  to  others  ;  there  were 
other  ages  in  which  philosophical  opinions  ran  just  the  same 
course  as  heresies.  The  labors  of  the  human  mind,  whethei 
In  the  sphere  of  religion  or  of  philosophy,  had  been  accumu- 
lating from  the  eleventh  to  the  sixteenth  century  ;  and  the 
time  was  now  come  when  they  must  necessarily  have  a  re- 
sult. Besides  this,  the  means  of  instruction  created  or  favor- 
ed in  the  bosom  of  the  Church  itself,  had  brought  forth  fruit. 
Schools  had  been  instituted  ;  these  schools  had  produced 
men  of  considerable  knowledge,  and  their  number  had  daily 
increased.  These  men  began  to  wish  to  think  for  themselves, 
for  they  felt  themselves  stronger  than  they  had  ever  been  be- 
fore. At  last  came  that  restoration  of  the  human  mind  to  a 
pristine  youth  and  vigor,  which  the  revival  of  the  learning  and 
arts  of  antiquity  brought  about,  the  progress  and  effects  of 
which  I  have  already  described. 

These  various  causes  combined,  gave,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  a  new  and  powerful  impulse  to  the  hu- 
man mind,  an  imperious  desire  to  go  forward. 

1  •  The  situation  of  the  spiritual  power,  which  then  had  the 
government  of  tht  human  mind,  was  totally  different ;  it,  on 
the  contrary,  had  fallen  into  a  state  of  imbecility,  and  remain- 
ed stationary.  The  political  influence  of  the  Church  and 
Court  of  Rome  was  much  diminished.  European  society  had 
passed  froui  the  dominion  of  Rome  to  that  of  temporal  govern- 
ments. Yet  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  spiritual  power  still  pre- 
served its  pretensions,  splendor,  and  outward  importance.. 
The  same  thing  happened  to  it  which  has  so  often  happenea 
to  long  established  governments.  .Most  of  the  complaintd 
Tiade  against  it  were  now  almost  groundless.  It  is  not  true, 
ihat  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Court  of  Rome  was  very 
tyrannical  ;  it  is  not  true,  that  its  abuses  were  more  numerous 
lii'd  crying  than  they  had  been  at  former  periods.  Never, 
perhaps,  on  the  contrary,  had  the  government  of  the  Church 
been  more  indulgent,  more  tolerant,  more  disposed  to  Icl 
tilings  take  their  course,  provided  it  was  not  itself  implicated 
piovided  that  the  right*  it  had  hitherto  enjoyed  were  acknow 


CrviLIZATION    IN    MODERN    KrROPB  257 

edgc.1  e^on  though  left  unexercised,  and  that  it  wls  assured 
)f  its  usual  existence,  and  received  its  usual  tributes.  It 
would  willingly  have  left  the  human  mind  to  itself,  if  the  hu- 
Tian  mind  had  been  as  tolerant  towards  its  offences.  But  it 
usually  happens,  that  just  when  governments  have  begun  Ic 
lo.se  their  influence  and  power,  just  when  they  are  compara 
lively  harmless,  that  they  are  most  exposed  to  attack  ;  it  ij 
then  that,  like  the  sick  lion,  they  may  be  attacked  with  impu- 
nity, though  the  attempt  would  have  been  desperate  when 
they  were  in  the  plenitude  of  their  power. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  simply  from  the  consideration  of  the 
state  of  the  human  mind  at  this  period,  and  of  the  power 
which  then  governed  it,  that  the  Reformation  must  have  been, 
1  repeat  it,  a  sudden  effort  made  by  the  human  mind  to 
achieve  its  liberty,  a  great  insurrection  of  human  intelligence. 
This,  doubtless,  was  the  leading  cause  of  the  Reformation, 
ihe  cause  which  soared  above  all  the  rest ;  a  cause  superior 
to  every  interest  either  of  sovereigns  or  of  nations,  superior 
to  the  need  of  reform  properly  so  called,  or  of  the  redress  of 
the  grievances  which  were  complained  of  at  this  period. 

Let  us  suppose,  that  after  the  first  years  of  the  Reformation 
had  passed  away,  when  it  had  made  all  its  demands,  and  in- 
sisted on  all  its  grievances, — let  us  suppose,  1  say,  that  the 
spiritual  power  had  conceded  everything,  and  said,  "  Well,  be 
it  so  ;  T  will  make  ever)"^  reform  you  desire  ;  I  will  return  to 
a  more  legal,  more  truly  religious  order  of  affairs.  I  will 
suppress  arbitrary  exactions  and  tributes  ;  even  in  matters  of 
belief  1  will  modify  my  doctrines,  and  return  to  the  primitive 
standard  of  Christian  faith.  But,  having  thus  redressed  all 
your  grievances,  I  must  preserve  my  station,  and  retain,  as 
formerly,  the  government  of  the  human  mind,  with  all  the 
powers  and  all  the  rights  which  I  have  hitherto  enjoyed." — 
Can  we  believe  that  the  religious  revolution  would  have  been 
satisfied  with  these  concessions,  and  would  have  stopped 
short  in  its  course  ?  I  cannot  think  so  ;  1  firmly  believe  tlial 
it  would  have  continued  its  career,  and  that  after  having  ob- 
.allied  reform,  it  would  have  demanded  liberty.  The  crisis 
jf  the  sixteenth  century  was  not  merely  of  a  reforming  char- 
acter ;  it  was  essentially  revolutionary.  It  cannot  be  depriveo 
of  this  character,  with  all  the  good  and  evil  that  belongs  U 
\i ;  its  nature  may  be  traced  in  its  effects 


^58  OEMERAI     HISTORY    OF 

Let  US  take  a  glance  at  th  j  destinies  of  the  Reformaticn , 
let  us  see,  more  particularly,  what  it  has  produced  in  tho  dif 
I'erent  countries  ia  which  it  developed  itself.  It  can  hardlv 
escape  observation  that  it  exhibited  itself  in  very  difleront 
situations,  and  with  very  different  chances  of  success  ;  if  then 
we  find  ihat,  notwithstanding  this  diversity  of  situations  and 
chances,  it  has  always  pursued  a  certain  object,  obtained  a 
certain  result,  and  preserved  a  certain  character,  it  mus'  be 
evident  that  this  charactei,  which  has  surmounted  all  the  di 
versities  of  situation,  all  the  inequalities  of  chance,  must  be 
ihe  fundamental  character  of  the  event ;  and  that  this  result 
must  be  the  essential  object  of  its  pursuit. 

Well  then,  wherever  the  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth 
century  prevailed,  if  it  did  not  accomplish  a  complete  eman- 
cipation of  the  human  mind,  it  procured  it  a  new  and  great 
increase  of  liber ti/.  It  doubtless  left  the  mind  subject  to  all 
the  chances  of  liberty  or  thraldom  which  might  arise  from 
political  institutions  ;  but  it  abolished  or  disarmed  the  spiritual 
power,  tlie  systematic  and  formidable  government  of  the  mind. 
This  was  the  result  obtained  by  the  Reformation,  notwith- 
standing the  infinite  diversity  of  circumstances  under  which 
it  took  place.  In  Germany  there  was  no  political  liberty  ;  the 
Reformation  did  not  introduce  it ;  it  rather  strengthened  than 
■jnfeebled  the  power  of  princes  ;  it  was  rather  opposed  to  the 
free  institutions  of  the  middle  ages  than  favorable  to  their 
progress.  Still,  in  spite  of  this,  it  excited  and  maintained  in 
Germany  a  greater  freedom  of  thought,  probably,  than  in  any 
other  country.  In  Denmark,  too,  a  country  in  which  absolute 
power  predominated  in  the  municipal  institutions,  as  well  as 
the  general  institutions  of  the  state,  thought  was  emancipated 
through  the  influence  of  the  Reformation,  and  freely  exercised 
on  ever/  subject.  In  Holland,  under  a  republic  ;  in  Eng'and, 
under  a  constitutional  monarchy,  and  in  spite  of  a  religious 
tyranny  which  was  long  very  severe,  the  emancipation  of  tho 
human  mind  was  accomplished  by  the  same  influeuo'e.  And 
vastly,  in  France,  which  seemed  from  its  situation  the  least 
likely  of  any  to  be  afTected  by  this  religious  revoluiion,  even 
in  this  country,  where  it  was  actually  overcome,  it  became  a 
(Tinciple  of  mental  independence,  of  intellectual  freedom 
Till  the  year  1685,  that  is,  till  tho  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes,  the  Reformation  enjoyed  a  legal  existence  in  franco 
During  this  long  space  of  ti-ne,  the  reformers  wrote,  disputed 


CIVILIZATION    IN    KODERN    EUROPE.  259 

ind  provoked  their  adversaries  to  write  and  dispute  with  tiicm 
Tl.is  single  fact,  this  war  of  tracts  aid  dispnlalioii3  betweei; 
the  old  and  new  opinions,  diffiised  in  France  a  greater  degree 
of  real  and  active  liberty  than  is  commonly  believed  ;  a  liberty 
wliich  redounded  to  the  advantage  of  science  and  morality,  to 
the  honor  of  the  French  clergy,  and  to  tlie  benefit  of  the  mint' 
in  general  Look  at  the  conferences  of  Bossuet  with  Claudo 
and  at  all  the  religions  controversy  of  that  period,  and  ask 
yourselves  if  Louis  XIV.  would  have  permitted  a  similar  de- 
gioe  of  freedom  on  any  other  subject.  It  was  between  the 
reformers  and  the  opprsite  party  that  the  greatest  freedom  of 
opinion  existed  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Religious  ques- 
tions were  treated  in  a  bolder  and  freer  spirit  of  speculation 
than  political,  even  by  Fenelon  himself  in  his  Telemachus. 
This  state  of  things  lasted  till  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes.  Now,  from  the  year  1 685  to  the  explosion  of  the 
human  mind  in  the  eighteenth  century,  there  was  not  an  inter- 
val of  forty  years  ;  and  the  influence  of  the  religious  revolu- 
tion in  favor  of  intellectual  liberty  had  scarcely  ceased  when 
the  influence  of  the  revolution  in  philosophy  began  to  operate. 
You  see,  then,  that  wherever  the  Reformation  penetrated, 
wherever  it  acted  an  important  part,  whether  conqueror  or 
conquered,  its  general,  leading,  and  constant  result  was  an 
immense  progress  in  mental  activity  and  freedom  ;  an  immense 
step  towards  the  emancipation  of  the  human  mind. 

Again,  not  only  was  this  the  result  of  the  Reformation,  but 
it  was  content  mith  this  result.  Wherever  this  was  obtained, 
no  other  was  sought  for ;  so  entirely  was  it  the  very  founda- 
tion of  the  event,  its  primitive  and  fundamental  character ' 
Thus,  in  Germany,  far  from  demanding  political  liberty,  the 
Reformation  accepted,  I  shall  not  say  servitude,  but  the  ab 
sence  of  liberty.  In  England,  it  consented  to  the  hierarclii 
cal  constitution  of  the  clergy,  and  to  the  existence  of  a  Church, 
as  full  of  abuses  as  ever  the  Romish  Church  had  been,  and 
much  more  servile.  Why  did  the  Reformation,  so  ardent  and 
rigid  in  certain  respects,  exhibit,  in  these  instances,  so  much 
facility  and  suppleness  \  Because  it  had  obtained  the  general 
result  to  which  it  tended,  the  abolition  of  the  spiritual  [ower, 
and  the  emancipation  of  the  human  mind.  I  repeat  it;  wher< 
ever  the  Reformation  attained  this  object,  it  accommodated 
Itself  to  every  form  of  government,  and  to  every  situatioq. 

ir 


^60  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

Let  us  now  test  this  fact  by  the  opposite  mode  of  projj', 
let  us  see  what  happened  in  those  countries  into  which  th« 
Reformation  did  not  penetrate,  or  in  which  it  was  early  sup 

f)ressed.  We  learn  from  history  that,  in  those  countries,  the 
luman  mind  was  not  emancipated  ;  witness  two  great  coun- 
tries, Spain  and  Itdy,  While,  in  those  parts  of  Europe  into 
which  the  Reformation  very  largely  entered,  the  human  mind 
during  the  last  three  centuries,  has  acquired  an  activity  and 
freedom  previously  unknown  ; — in  those  other  parts,  into 
which  it  was  never  allowed  to  make  its  way,  the  niind,  dur- 
ing the  same  period,  has  become  languid  and  inert :  go  thai 
opposite  sets  of  facts,  which  happened  at  the  same  time,  con- 
cur in  establishinrf  the  same  result. 


The  impulse  which  was  given  to  human  thought,  and  the 
abolition  of  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order  consti- 
tuted, then,  the  essential  character  of  the  Reformation,  the 
most  general  result  of  its  influence,  the  ruling  fact  in  it? 
destiny. 

I  use  the  wordyac^,  and  I  do  so  on  purpose.  The  eman- 
cipation of  the  human  mind,  in  the  course  of  the  Reformation, 
was  a  fact  rather  than  a  principle,  a  result  rather  than  an  in- 
tention. The  Reformation,  I  believe,  has  in  this  respect,  per- 
formed more  than  it  undertook, — more,  probably,  than  it  de- 
sired. Contrary  to  what  has  happened  in  many  other  revolu- 
t'.ons,  the  effects  of  which  have  not  come  up  to  their  design, 
tne  consequences  of  the  Reformation  have  gone  beyond  the 
object  it  had  in  view  ;  it  is  greater,  considered  as  an  event, 
than  as  a  system ;  it  has  never  completely  known  all  that  il 
has  done   nor,  if  it  had,  would  it  have  completely  avowed  it. 

What  are  the  reproaches  constantly  applied  to  the  Refoi 
mation  by  its  enemies  ?   which  of  its  results  are  thrown  in  its 
face,  as  it  were,  as  unanswerable  ? 

The  two  principal  reproaches  are,  first,  the  multiplicity  of 
«ects,  the  excessive  license  of  thought,  the  destruction  of  all 
spiritual  authority,  and  the  entire  dissolution  of  religious  so- 
ciety :  secondly,  tyranny  and  persecution.  "  You  provoke 
licontio  isness,"  it  has  been  said  to  the  Reformers, — "you 
oroductd  it;  and,  after  having  been  the  cause  of  it,  you  wish 
to  restrain  and  repress  it.  And  how  do  you  repress  it?  IJ) 
'.the   most   harsh   and  violent  means      You  tak*^  upon    your 


civil  IZATION    IN    MODERN     E    HOPE 


26] 


tjclves,  too,  to  punish  heresy,  and  that  by  virtue  of  an  illegiti- 
mate authority." 

If  we  take  a  review  of  all  the  principal  charges  which 
nave  been  made  against  the  Reformation,  we  shall  find,  if 
we  srt  aside  all  questions  purely  doctrinal,  that  the  above  are 
.he  two  fundamental  reproaches  to  which  they  may  all  b« 
reduced. 

Thpse  charges  gave  great  embarrassment  to  the  reform 
party  When  they  were  taxed  with  the  multiplicity  of  their 
Efccts,  instead  of  advocating  the  freedom  of  religious  opinion 
and  maiiitaining  the  right  of  every  sect  to  entire  toleration, 
they  denounced  sectarianism,  lamented  it,  and  endeavored  to 
llnd  excuses  for  its  existence.  Were  they  accused  ol  perse- 
cution 1  They  were  troubled  to  defend  themselves  ,  they 
used  the  plea  of  necessity  ;  they  had,  they  said,  the  right  to 
repress  and  punish  error,  because  they  were  in  possession  ol 
the  truth.  Their  articles  of  belief,  they  contended,  and  their 
institutions,  were  the  only  legitimate  ones  ;  and  if  the  Church 
of  Rome  had  not  the  right  to  punish  the  reformed  party,  it 
was  because  she  was  in  the  wrong  and  they  in  the  right. 

And  when  the  charge  of  persecution  was  applied  to  the 
ruling  party  in  the  Reformation,  not  by  its  enemies,  but  by  its 
own  offspring  ;  when  the  sects  denounced  by  that  party  said, 
"  We  are  doing  just  what  you  did  ;  we  separate  ourselves 
from  you,  just  as  you  separated  yourselves  from  the  Church 
of  Rome,"  this  ruling  party  were  still  more  at  a  loss  to  find 
an  answer,  and  frequently  the  only  answer  they  had  to  give 
WHS  an  increase  of  severity. 

The  truth  is,  that  while  laboring  for  the  destruction  of  ab 
solute  pow-?r  in  the  spiritual  order,  the  religious  revolution  of 
the  sixteenth  century  was  not  aware  of  the  true  principles  of 
intellectual  liberty.  It  emancipated  the  human  mind,  and  yet 
pretended  still  to  govern  it  by  laws.  In  point  o^  fact  it  pro 
duced  the  prevalence  of  free  inquiry  ;  in  point  of  principle  it 
believed  that  it  was  substituting  a  legitimate  for  ari  illegitimate 
po  ver.  It  had  not  looked  up  to  the  primary  motive,  nor  dowj, 
to  the  ultimate  consequences  of  its  own  work.  It  thus  fell 
into  a  double  error.  On  the  one  side  it  did  not  know  or  re- 
epect  all  the  rights  of  human  thought ;  at  the  very  moment  that 
It  was  demanding  these  rights  for  itself,  it  was  violating  their 
towards  others.  On  the  other  side,  it  was  unable  to  estimate 
'.he  rights  of  authority  in  matters  of  reason.     I  do  not  speak 


262  3ENERAL    HISTORY    0¥  , 

of  that  coercive  authority  which  ought  to  have  no  rights  at 
all  in  such  matters,  but  of  that  kind  of  authority  which  is 
purely  moral,  and  acts  solely  by  its  influence  lipou  the  im.id. 
In  most  reformed  countries  something  is  wanting  to  complete 
the  proper  organization  of  intellectual  society,  and  to  the  regu- 
lar action  of  oM  and  general  opinions.  What  is  due  to  and 
required  by  traditional  belief,  has  not  been  reconciled  with 
what  is  due  to  and  required  by  freedom  of  thinking ;  and  tlie 
cause  of  this  undoubtedly  is,  that  the  Reformation  did  not 
fully  comprehend  and  accept  its  own  principles  and  effects. 

Hence,  too,  the  Reformation  acquired  an  appearance  of  in- 
consistency and  narrowness  of  mind,  which  has  often  given 
an  advantage  to  its  enemies.  They  knew  very  well  what 
they  were  about,  and  what  they  wanted  ;  they  cited  the  prin- 
ciples of  their  conduct  without  ecruple,  and  avowed  all  its  con- 
sequences. There  never  was  a  government  more  consistent 
and  systematic  than  that  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  In  point 
oi  fact,  the  Court  of  Rome  made  more  compromises  and  con- 
cessions than  the  Reformation  ;  in  point  of  pri?iciple,  it  ad- 
nered  much  more  closely  to  its  system,  and  maintained  a 
more  consistent  line  of  conduct.  Great  strength  is  gained  by 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  one's  own  views  and 
actions,  by  a  complete  and  rational  adoption  of  a  certain  prin- 
ciple and  design  :  and  a  striking  example  of  this  is  to  be 
found  in  the  course  of  the  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  Every  body  knows  that  the  principal  power  institu- 
ted to  contend  against  the  Reformation  was  the  order  of  the 
Jesuits.  Look  for  a  moment  at  their  history ;  they  failed 
everywhere ;  wherever  they  interfered,  to  any  extent,  they 
brought  misfortune  upon  the  cause  in  which  they  meddled. 
In  England  they  ruined  kings  ;  in  Spain,  whole  masses  of  the 
people.  The  g'?neral  coursf  of  events,  the  development  of 
modern  civilization,  the  freedom  of  the  human  mind,  all  these 
I'orces  with  which  the  Jesuits  were  called  upon  to  conteiid, 
rose  up  against  them  and  overcame  them.  And  not  only  did 
ihey  fail,  but  you  must  remember  what  sort  of  means  they 
were  constrained  to  employ.  There  was  nothing  great  oi 
splendid  in  wh-it  they  did ;  they  produced  no  striking  events, 
they  did  not  put  in  mo.ion  powerful  masses  of  men.  They 
proceeded  by  dark  and  hidden  courses  ;  courses  by  no  meanii 
calculated  to  strike  the  imagination,  or  to  conciliate  that  pub- 
lic interest  which  always  attaches  itself  to  great  things,  what- 
ever may  be  their  principle  and  object      The  party  oppoiotf 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EURf^PE.  263 

JO  thcni,  on  the  contrar/,  not  only  overcame,  but  tvercaine 
signally ;  did  great  things  and  by  great  mean?  •  overspread 
ICurope  with  great  men  ;  changed,  in  open  day,  the  condition 
and  lorm  of  States.  Every  thing,  in  short,  was  against  the 
Jesnits.  both  fortune  and  appearances  ;  reason,  which  desires 
snccess, — and  imagination,  which  requires  eclat, — were  alike 
disappointed  by  their  fate.  Still,  however,  they  were  un- 
doubtedly possessed  of  grandeur;  great  ideas  are  attached 
fo  their  name,  their  influence,  and  their  history,  '''he  reason 
is,  that  they  knew  what  they  did,  and  what  they  wished  to  ac- 
complish ;  that  they  were  fully  and  clearly  aware  of  the  prin 
ciples  upon  which  they  acted,  and  of  the  object  which  they 
had  in  view.  They  possessed  grandeur  of  thought  and  of 
will ;  and  it  was  this  that  saved  them  from  the  ridicule  which 
attends  constant  reverses,  and  the  use  of  paltry  means. 
Wherever,  on  the  contrary,  the  event  has  been  greater  thjiii 
the  design,  wherever  there  is  an  appearance  of  ignorance  of 
the  first  principles  and  ultimate  results  of  an  action,  there  has 
always  remained  a  degree  of  incompleteness,  inconsistency, 
and  narrowness  of  view,  which  has  placed  the  very  victors 
in  a  state  of  rational  or  philosophical  inferiority,  the  influei.ce 
of  which  has  soirietimes  been  apparent  in  the  course  of 
events.  This,  I  think,  in  the  struggle  between  the  old  and 
the  new  order  of  things,  in  matters  of  religion,  was  the  weak 
side  of  the  Reformation,  which  often  embarrassed  its  situation, 
and  prevented  it  from  defending  itself  so  well  as  it  had  a 
right  ♦<)  do. 

I  might  consider  the  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth 
century  under  many  other  aspects.  I  have  said  nothing,  and 
have  nothing  to  say,  respecting  it  as  a  matter  of  doctrine- 
respecting  its  effects  on  religion,  properly  so  called,  or  rc'. 
specting  the  relations  of  the  human  soul  with  God  and  an 
eternal  futurity  ;  but  I  might  exhibit  it  in  its  various  relations 
with  social  order,  everywhere  producing  results  of  immense 
importance.  For  example,  it  introduced  religion  into  the 
midst  of  the  laity,  into  the  world,  so  to  speak,  of  believers, 
lill  then,  religion  had,  been  the  exclusi\e  domain  of  the 
ecclesiastical  order  The  clergy  distributed  the  proceeds, 
but  reserved  to  themselves  the  disposal  of  the  capital,  and  aU 
most  the  exclusive  right  even  to  speak  of  it.  The  Reforma- 
tion again  threw  matters  of  religious  belief  into  general  circu- 
lation, and  again  opened  to  believers    the   field  of  faith  inU! 


864  UGNERAL    HISTORY    OV 

which  they  had  not  been  permitted  to  enter.  It  had,  at  the 
same  time,  a  fuither  result ;  it  banished,  or  nearly  so,  religion 
from  politics,  and  restored  the  independence  of  the  temporal 
power.  At  the  same  moment  that  religion  returned  into  tlio 
possession  of  believers,  it  quitted  the  government  of  society. 
In  the  reformed  countries,  in  spite  of  the  diversities  of  eccle- 
siastical constitutions,  even  in  England,  whose  constitution 
is  most  nearly  akin  to  the  old  order  of  things,  the  spiritual 
power  has  no  longer  any  serious  pretensions  to  the  govern- 
ment of  the  temporal  power. 

I  might  enumerate  many  other  consequences  of  the  Refor- 
mation, but  I  must  limit  myself  to  the  above  general  views, 
and  I  am  satisfied  with  having  placed  before  you  its  principal 
feature — the  emancipation  of  the  human  mind,  and  the  aboli- 
tion of  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order  ;  an  abolition 
wltich,  thpugh,  undoubtedly,  not  complete,  is  yet  the  greatest 
step  which,  down  to  our  own  times,  has  ever  been  made  to- 
wards  the  attainment  of  that  object. 

Before  concluding,  I  pray  you  to  remark,  what  a  striking 
resemblance  of  destiny  there  is  to  be  found,  in  the  history  of 
modern  Europe,  between  civil  and  religious  society,  in  the 
revolutions  they  have  had  to  undergo. 

Christian  society,  as  we  have  seen  when  I  spoke  of  the 
Church,  was,  at  first,  a  state  of  society  perfectly  free,  formed 
entirely  in  the  name  of  a  common  belief,  without  institutions 
or  government,  properly  so  called  ;  regulated,  solely,  by  moral 
and  variable  powers,  according  to  the  exigencies  of  the  mo- 
fnent.*  Civil  society  began,  in  like  manner,  in  Europe, 
partly,  at  least,  by  bands  of  barbarians  ;  it  was  a  state  of  so- 
ciety perfectly  free,  in  which  every  one  remained,  because  he 
wished  to  do  so,  without  laws  or  powers  created  by  institu- 
tions. In  emerging  from  that  state  which  was  inconsislen 
with  any  great  social  development,  religious  society  placed 
itself  under  a  government  essentially  aristocratic  ;  its  govern- 
ors were  the  clergy,  the  bishops,  the  councils,  the  ecclesia.«- 
ijcal  aristocracy.  A  fact  of  the  same  kind  took  place  in  civil 
society  when  it  emerged  from  barbarism  ;  it  was,  in  like  man- 
ner, the  aristocracy,  the  feudalism  of  the  laity,  which  laid  hold 
of  the  power  of  government.  Religious  society  quitted  the 
aristocratic  form  of  government  to  assume  that  of  pure  nioii 


•  Sec  note  5,  pap;e  51. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN     f.UROKE. 


263 


uchy  ;  this  was  the  rationale  of  the  triumph  of  the  Court  of 
Rome  over  the  councils  and  the  ecclesiastical  aristocracy  of 
Rurope.  The  same  revolution  was  accomplished  in  civil  sf»- 
cicty  ;  it  was,  in  like  manner,  by  the  destruction  of  the  aria 
tocratic  power,  that  monarchy  prevailed,  and  took  possession 
of  the  Eurojiean  world.  In  the  sixteenth  century,  in  the  heart 
of  religious  society,  an  insurrection  broke  out  against  tlie  sys- 
levn  of  pure  ecclesiastical  monarchy,  against  absolute  power 
in  the  spiritual  order.  This  revolution  produced,  fcanctioned, 
ind  established  freedom  of  inquiry  in  F  irope.  In  our  own 
lime  we  have  witnessed  a  similar  event  in  civil  society.  Ab 
solute  temporal  power,  in  like  manner,  was  attacked  and  over- 
come. You  see,  then,  that  the  two  orders  of  society  have 
undergone  the  same  vicissitudes  and  revolutions  ;  only  reli- 
gious society  has  always  been  the  foremost  in  this  career. 

We  are  now  in  possession  of  one  of  the  great  facts  in  the 
history  of  modern  society — freedom  of  inquiry,  the  liberty  of 
the  human  mind.  We  see,  at  the  same  time,  the  almost  uni- 
versal prevalence  of  political  centralization.  In  my  next  lec- 
ture I  shall  consider  the  revolution  in  England ;  the  event  in 
which  freedom  of  inquiry  and  a  pure  monarchy,  both  results 
of  the  progress  of  civilization,  came,  for  the  first  time,  into 
collision.28 

2^  The  subject  of  the  foregoing  lecture  is  so  vast,  so  important  in 
Itself,  and  so  complicated  with  all  the  great  political  events  of  Eu- 
rope for  many  years,  that  the  views  presented  by  the  author  cannot 
be  competently  appreciated  (if  even  their  force  and  bearing  can  be 
well  comprehended)  without  a  more  thorough  and  familiar  ac- 
quaintance with  the  facts,  the  history  of  the  period,  than  is  likely 
to  be  possessed  by  the  young  student.  To  give  here  such  an  ex- 
hibition of  the  facts  as  would  enable  him  to  judge  for  himself,  to 
Rccept  or  modify  the  views  of  the  author,  is  impossible.  He  must 
carefully  study  the  history  of  the  period  in  the  best  writers :  there 
is  no  other  way  for  him  to  acquire  a  clear  and  thorough  compre- 
hension of  its  spirit,  of  the  meaning  and  value  of  the  Reformation. 
Among  the  works  to  which  he  ma/  be  referred  are  Robertson's 
Charles  the  Fifth,  Coxe's  Austria,  Roscoe's  Leo  X.,  Burnet's  His- 
tory of  the  Reformation  ;  Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes,  D'Aubigne's 
History  of  the  Reformation,  Gibbon,  ch.  54  ;  and  for  the  English 
R  "formation,  Blunt's  History,  portions  of  Hume  and  Lingard,  the 
wslories  o(  Heylin,  Fuller,  Collier. 

Two  or  three  remarks  may  be  made  on  the  foregoing  lecture. 

Chat  the  reformation  in  England  "consented to  the  ex- 

ifcct-noe  of  a  Church  as  full  of  abuses  as  ever  the  Romish  Churcl: 
Lad  bce»A,  and  much  riore  servile,"  (p.  259.)  is  an  observation  whicl 


260  UENERAL    HISTORY    OF 

will  be  differently  received,  according  to  differences  of  individual 
views. 

That  the  Reforniaiion  in  legard  lo  its  leading  principle  was  "an 
insurrection  of  ilie  human  mind  against  the  absolute  power  ol 
spiritual  order"  (p.  256)  is  a  rema'-k  that  needs  qualific;ition.  No 
doubt  the  assertion  of  this  principle  of  absolute  indcptnJtncc,  of 
(he  unlimited  right  of  private  judgment  in  religion,  btcame  and  haa 
continued  to  be  the  great  characteristic  result  of  the  religious  re- 
volution. But  the  Reformation  did  not  at  the  outset  (any  more 
than  many  other  great  revolutions)  generalize  itself,  define  and 
enunciate  the  principle?  on  which  it  proceeded  It  began  with  op- 
position to  special  abuses  and  corruptions.  Neither  Luihcrnor  his 
associates  comprehended  at  first  how  far  they  should  be  carried. 
Ii  was  only  in  the  sequel  that  the  right  of  private  judgmeni  in  re- 
ligion was  brought  out,  asserted,  and  contended  for  as  a  principle. 
Luther  himself  and  the  earliest  reformers  did  not  contend  for  it  as 
an  absolute  principle.  This  is  evident  from  the  continual  offers  of 
Luther  lo  submit  hiniself  implicitly  to  the  decision  of  a  general 
council.  It  is  evident  moreover  from  the  fact  that  the  reformers, 
just  as  much  as  the  papists,  held  it  right  to  inflict  coercion,  j)hysj- 
cal  pains,  and  death  upon  those  who  denied  what  they  regarded  as 
the  essential  faith. 

"  The  Roman  Catholics,"  says  Robertson,  "  as  their  system  rest- 
ed on  the  decisions  of  an  infallible  judge,  never  doubted  that  truth 
was  on  their  side,  and  openly  called  on  the  civil  power  to  repel  the 
impious  and  heretical  innovators  who  had  risen  up  against  it.  The 
Protestants,  no  less  confident  that  their  doctrine  was  well  founded, 
required  with  equal  ardor  the  princes  of  their  party  to  check  such 
as  presumed  to  impugn  or  oppose  it.  Luther,  Calvin,  Cranmer, 
Knox,  the  founders  of  the  reformed  church  in  their  respective  coun- 
tries, inflicted,  as  far  as  they  had  power  and  opportunity,  the  same 
punishments,  which  were  denounced  by  the  Church  of  Rome,  upon 
such  as  called  in  question  any  article  of  their  creed." 

Upon  this  passage  of  Robertson,  Smy  the  (Lectures  on  Mod.  Hist. 
;\  292,  Am.  ed.)  remarks,  that  "  Luther  might  have  been  favorably 
distinguished  from  Calvin  and  others.  There  are  passages  in  hia 
writings,  with  regard  to  the  interference  of  the  magistrate  in  re- 
ligious concerns,  that  do  him  honor;  but  he  was  favorably  siiuated 
and  lived  not  to  see  the  temporal  sword  at  his  command.  He  was 
never  tried." 

Now  whether  the  principle  of  independence  oi all  authority,  th; 
Mbsolulely  unlimited  right  of  priv^te  judgment  in  matters  of  re- 
ligious faith,  be  or  be  not  a  correct  principle,  it  will  not  be  disputed 
a  the  j)resent  day  that  absolute  independence  of  all  human  author- 
i'y,and  so  far  forth  the  unlimited  right  of  private  judgment,  is  a  cor- 
rect principle,  and  that  all  coercion  or  physical  punishment  is  a 
monstrous  absurdity  and  a  monstrous  crime  Yet  nothing  isclearei 
from  history  than  thai  the  reformers  did  not  understand,  did  not  aC 
jpon  this  principle  '  it  was  a  century  and  a  half  before  ProicsttinU 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN     EUROl  E.  267 

learned  definitively  that  they  had  no  right  to  inflict  death,  im- 
prisonment, stripes  or  fines  upon  heretics,  and  no  right  beyond 
that  of  simply  separating  from  their  communion.  It  is  a  prevalent 
opinion  among  us,  tiiat  the  Romanists  are  the  only  ones  who  put 
people  to  death  on  account  of  their  religious  opinions.  Protestants 
§hould  know  that  this  is  not  the  case.  So  far  from  it,  much  sad 
warrant  was  given  for  the  taunt  of  the  Papists,  "  that  the  reformers 
were  only  against  burning  when  they  were  in  fear  of  it  themselves.^' 
It  is  far  better  therefore  not  to  burden  the  defence  of  the  Reforma- 
tion with  the  impossible  task  of  denying  or  palliating  the  indefen- 
sible acts  of  its  first  authors — acts  to  which  they  were  led  because 
they  themselves  were  not  yet  fully  emancipated  from  the  corrupt 
jirinciples  of  the  age.  The  great  cause  of  the  Reformation  doea 
not  stand  or  fall  on  such  grounds ;  and  nothing  is  lost  by  freely  UQ 
milting  all  the  persecuting  acts  of  the  early  reformers. 

Calvin  burnt  Servetus  for  heresy:  the  mild  Melancthon  apprcv- 
ed  the  act ;  so  did  Bucer,  (Calv!  Epist.  p.  147,  ed.  Genev.  1575). 

Calvin,  in  his  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Somerset,  lord  Protector  of 
England,  (Epist.  p.  67,)  speaking  of  the  Papists  and  of  the  fanatic 
sect  of  "Gospellers,"  says  expressly,  "  they  ought  to  be  repressed 
Dy  the  avenging  sword  which  the  Lord  has  put  into  your  hands,— 
:rladio  ultore  coercert  quern  tibi  tradidit  Dominus.'^ 

In  1550,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.,  a  woman  was  burnt  at  the 
stake  for  some  opinion  about  the  incarnation  of  Christ.  The  king 
was  extremely  reluctant  to  sign  the  death  warrant,  and  yielded 
only  to  the  authority  of  Cranmer.  See  Burnet.  The  Protestant 
nistorian  Fuller,  a  century  afterwards,  has  this  passage  about  it: 
"  She,  with  one  or  two  Arians,  were  all  who  (and  that  justly)  died 
in  this  king's  reign  for  their  opinions." — "And  that  justly  !  !" 

For  an  account  of  the  executions  and  other  severe  punishments 
inflicted  for  religious  opinions  by  the  Protestants  in  England,  see 
the  Church  Histories  of  Heylin,  Fuller,  and  Collier,  all  Protestant 
writers.  For  a  brief  summary,  see  Smythe's  Lectures  on  Mod. 
Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  266,  et  sen.  Am.  ed.  It  appears  that  many  were  put 
to  death  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. ;  some  in  the  time  of  Edward 
VI. ;  one  hundred  and  sixty  Roman  Catholics  in  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth; sixteen  or  seventeen  in  that  of  James  I.;  and  more  than 
twenty  by  the  Presbyterians  and  Republicans.  Some  of  these  wer^ 
burned  or  hanged  directly  for  their  religious' opinions  ;  others  under 
sanguinary  laws  enacted  on  supposed  principles  of  state  necessity 

From  a  study  of  the  history  connected  with  these  facts,  the  read- 
er will  be  able  to  judge  for  himself  how  far  the  principle  of  the 
freedom  of  the  mind  in  regard  to  religious  faith,  was  recognised 
ox  respected  by  the  reformers. 

One  more  question  the  student  should  have  before  his  mind  in 
ijoing  through  the  history  of  this  period.  Admitting  the  right  of 
ndividual  judgment  to  be  absolutely  independent  of  all  human 
iuthority,  and  all  punishment  for  religious  opinions  to  be  absurtf 
«nd  monstrous,--has  man,  on  the  other  hand,  a  right  to  oppose  his 


208  GENERAL     HISTORY     OF    CIVILIZATION. 

individual  judgment  lo  divine  authority,  and  arbitral  ily  lo  reject 
the  historical  evidence  by  which  the  divine  decision  of  any  ari'cit 
of  faith  is  established?  On  this  point  let  the  student  recur  to  the 
remarks  of  Guizot,  p:261.  "  It  [the  Reformation]  fell  into  a  double 
error.  On  the  one  side  it  did  aot  know  or  respec  all  the  rights 
of  human  ll  ought;  at  the  very  moment  that  it  was  demanding 
these  rights  for  itself,  it  was  violating  them  towards  others.  On 
t,ie  other  side,  it  was  unable  to  estirnate  the  rights  of  authority  in 
malters  of  reason.  I  do  not  speak  of  that  coercive  authority  which 
ought  to  have  no  rights  at  all  in  such  matters,  but  of  thai  kind  of 
authority  which  is  purely  moral,  and  acts  solely  by  its  influence 
upon  the  mind.  In  most  reformed  countries,  something  is  want- 
ing to  complete  the  proper  organization  of  inlelleclual  society,  and  tc 
the  regular  action  of  old  and  general  opinions.  What  is  due  to  and 
required  by  traditional  belief,  has  not  been  reconciled  with  whal 
is  due  to  and  required  by  freedom  of  thinking;  and  the  cause  of 
this  undoubtedly  is,  that  the  Reformation  did  not  fully  comprehend 
and  accept  its  own  principles  and  elfecis." 

This  perhaps  is  the  most  important  passage  in  the  lecture  for 
the  student's  meditation,  and  indicates  a  profound  insight  on  iht 
author's  part  into  the  great  problem  which  it  was  the  mission  of 
the  Reformat  on  to  solve  ;  but  which,  as  the  author  too  truly  stiV-i 
la  ypt  tj  be  ^jlveil. 


LECTURE  XlII 

THE    ENGLISH    REVOLUTION. 

We  have  seen,  that  during  the  course  cf  \he  sixteei  .h  cen- 
Qiry,  all  the  elements,  all  the  facts,  of  ancient  European  so 
ciety  liad  merged  in  two  essential  facts,  the  right  of  trev 
examination,  and  centralization  of  power  ;  one  prevailing  in 
religious  society,  the  other  in  civil  society.  The  emancipa- 
tion of  the  human  mind  and  absolute  monarchy  triumphed  at 
the  same  moment  over  Europe  in  general. 

It  could  hardly  be  conceived  that  a  struggle  between  these 
two  facts— the  characters  of  which  appear  so  contradictory- 
would  not,  at  some  time,  break  out ;  for  while  one  was  the 
defeat  of  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order,  the  other  was 
the  triumph  of  absolute  power  in  the  temporal  order  ;  one 
forced  on  the  decline  of  the  ancient  ecclesiastical  monarchy, 
the  other  was  the  consummation  of  the  ruin  of  the  ancient  feu- 
dal and  municipal  liberty.  Their  simultaneous  appearance  was 
owing  as  I  have  already  observed,  to  the  circumstance  that 
the  revolutions  of  the  religious  society  followed  more  rapidly 
than  those  of  the  civil ;  one  had  arrived  at  the  point  in  which 
the  freedom  of  iiulividual  tlioughi  was  secured,  while  the 
other  still  lingered  on  the  spot  where  the  concentration  of  all 
the  powers  in  one  general  power  took  place.  The  co-inci- 
dence  of  these  two  facts,  so  far  from  being  the  consequence 
of  their  similitude,  did  not  even  prevent  their  contradiction. 
They  were  both  advances  in  the  march  of  civilization,  but 
they  were  advances  connected  with  dilTerent  situations  ;  ad- 
vances of  a  different  moral  date,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  ex- 
pression,  although  coincident  in  time.  From  their  position  it 
seemed  inevitable  that  they  must  clash  and  combat  before  i 
econciliation  could  be  effected  between  them. 

The  first  shock  between  them  took  place  ii  England.  The 
struggle  of  the  right  of  free  inquiry,  the  fruit  of  the  Reformation, 
against  the  entire  suppression  of  political  liberty,  the  object 


270  GENERAL    HISTORV    OF 

aimed  at  by  pure  monarchy — the  attempt  to  abolish  absohiti 
power  in  the  temporal  order,  as  had  already  been  done  in  tho 
spiritual  order — this  is  the  true  sense  of  the  English  re.'olu 
lion  ;  this  is  the  part  it  took  in  the  work  of  civilization. 

But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  came  it  to  pass,  that  this  strug 
gle  took  place  in  England  sooner  than  anywhere  else  ?  How 
happened  it  that  the  revolutions  of  a  political  character  coin 
cided  here  with  those  of  a  moral  character  sooner  than  they 
did  on  the  Continent  ? 

In  England,  the  royal  power  had  undergone  the  same  /i- 
cissitudes  as  it  had  on  the  Continent.  Under  the  Tudors  U 
had  reached  a  degree  of  concentration  and  vigor  which  it  haj 
never  attained  to  before.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  practi- 
cal despotism  of  the  Tudors  was  more  violent  and  vexatious 
than  that  of  their  predecessors  ;  there  were  quite  as  many, 
perhaps  more,  tyrannical  proceedings,  vexations,  and  acts  of 
injustice,  under  the  Plantagenets,  as  under  the  Tudors.  Per- 
haps, too,  at  this  very  period  the  government  of  pure  monar- 
chy was  more  severe  and  arbitrary  on  the  Continent  than  in 
England.  The  new  fact  under  the  Tudors  was,  that  absolute 
power  became  systematic ;  royally  laid  claim  to  a  primitive, 
independent  sovereignty  ;  it  held  a  language  which  it  had 
never  held  before.  The  theoretic  claims  of  Henry  VIII., 
Elizabeth,  James  I.,  and  Charles  I.,  are  very  dilferent  from 
those  of  Edward  I.  and  III.,  although,  in  point  of  fact,  the 
power  of  the  two  latter  monarchs  was  nowise  less  arbitrary  or 
extensive.  I  repeat,  then,  it  was  the  princijjle,  the  rational 
system  of  monarchy,  which  changed  in  England,  in  the  six- 
teenth century,  rather  than  its  practical  power  ;  royalty  now 
declared  itself  absolute  and  superior  to  all  laws,  even  to  those 
which  it  declared  itself  willing  to  respect. 

There  is  another  point  to  be  considered  ;  the  religious  re- 
volution had  not  been  accomplished  in  England  in  the  same 
way  as  on  the  Continent ;  it  was  here  the  work  of  the  mon- 
archs themselves.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  seeds 
had  not  been  sown,  or  that  even  attempts  had  not  been  made 
at  a  popular  .-eform,  or  that  one  would  not  probably  have  soon 
broken  out.  But  Henry  VIII.  took  the  lead  ;  power  became 
revolutionary  ;  and  nence  it  happened,  at  least  in  its  origin, 
'.hat,  as  a  redress  of  ecclesiastical  abuses,  as  an  emancipation 
of  the  human  mind   iLe  reform   in    England    was   much    less 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  271 

vOiTiplete  than  upon  the  Continent.  It  was  made,  as  might 
naturally  be  expected,  in  accordance  with  the  interests  of  itH 
authors.  The  king  and  the  episcopacy,  which  was  hero 
continued,  divided  between  themselves  the  riches  and  the- 
power,  of  which  they  despoiled  tlieir  predecessors,  thr 
popes.  The  effect  of  this  wa  soon  felt.  The  Reformalion. 
people  cried  out,  had  been  cljeed,  while  the  greater   part  of 

iiti  abuses  which  had  induced  them  to  desire  it,  were  still 
oontinued. 

The  Reformation  re-appeared  under  a  moie  popular  form  , 
it  made  the  same  demands  of  the  bishops  tha?  had  already  been 

nade  of  the  Holy  See  ;  it  accused  them  of  being  so  niany 
popes.  As  often  as  the  general  fate  of  the  religious  revolu- 
tion was  compromised  ;  whenever  a  struggle  against  the  an- 
cient Church  took  place,  the  various  portions  of  the  Reforma- 
lion party  rallied  together,  and  made  common  cause  against 
the  common  enemy  :  but  this  danger  over,  the  struggle  again 
broke  out  among  themselves  ;  the  popular  reform  again  at- 
tacked the  aristocratic  and  royal  reform,  denounced  its  abuses, 
complained  of  its  tyranny,  called  upon  it  to  make  good  its 
promises,  and  not  to  usurp  itself  the  power  which  it  had  just 
dethroned. 

Much  about  the  same  time  a  movement  for  liberty  took 
place  in  civil  society ;  a  desire  before  unknown,  or  at  least 
but  weakly  expressed,  was  now  felt  for  political  freedom.  In 
ihe  course  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  commercial  prosperity 
of  England  had  increased  with  amazing  rapidity,  while  during 
the.  same  time,  much  territorial  wealth,  much  baronial  pro- 
perty had  changed  hands.  The  numerous  divisions  of  land- 
ed property,  which  took  place  during  the  sixteenth  century, 
in  consequence  of  the  ruin  of  the  feudal  nobility,  and  from 
various  other  causes  which  I  cannot  now  stop  to  enumerate, 
form  a  fact  which  has  not  been  sufficiently  noticed.  A  va- 
riety of  documents  prove  how  greatly  the  number  of  landed 
roperties  increased ;  the  estates  going  generally  into  tha 
and?  of  the  gentry,  composed  of  the  lesser  nobility,  and  per- 
.>ns  wlio  had  acquired  property  by  trade.  The  high  nobility. 
the  House  of  Lords,  did  not,  at  the  beginning  of  the  seven- 
eonth  century,  nearly  equal,  in  riches,  the  House  of  Com* 
mons.  There  had  taken  place,  then,  at  the  same  time  m 
England,  a  great  increase  in  wealth  among  the  industrious 
ilaKses.  and  a  great  change  in  landed  property.      While  theee 


I 


272  GENERAL    HISTORY     OP 

two  facts  were  being  accomplished,  there  happened  a  third 
a  new  march  of  mind. 

The  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth  must  be  regarded  as  a  pe 
riod  of  great' literary  and  philosophical  activity,  in  England,  i 
period  remarkable  for  bold  and  pregnant  thought  ;  the  Puri 
tans  followed,  without  hesitation,  all  the  consequences  of  a  iiar 
row,  but  powerful  creed  ;  other  intellects,  with  less  morality, 
but  more  freedom  and  boldness,  alike  regardless  of  principh 
or  system,  seized  with  avidity  upon  every  idea,  which  seem- 
ed to  promise  some  gratification  to  their  curiosity,  some  food 
for  their  mental  ardor.  And  it  may  be  regarded  as  a  maxim, 
that  wherever  the  progress  of  intelligence  is  a  true  pleasure, 
a  desire  for  liberty  is  soon  felt,  nor  is  it  long  in  passing  from 
the  public  mind  to  the  state. 

A  feeling  of  the  same  kind,  a  sort  of  creeping  desire  foi 
political  liberty,  almost  manifested  itself  in  some  of  the  coun- 
tries on  the  Continent  in  which  the  Reformation  had  made 
some  way  ;  but  these  countries,  being  without  the  meap.s  of 
success,  made  no  progress  ;  they  knew  not  how  to  nake 
their  desire  felt ;  they  could  find  no  support  for  it  either  in  in- 
stitutions, or  in  the  habits  and  usages  of  the  people  ;  hence 
this  desire  remained  vague,  uncertain,  and  sought  in  vain  for 
the  means  of  satisfying  its  ciavings.  In  England  the  case 
was  widely  different :  the  spirit  of  political  liberty  which 
showed  itself  here  in  the  sixteenth  century,  as  a  sort  of  ap- 
pendix to  the  Reformation,  found  both  a  firm  support  and  the 
means  of  speaking  and  acting  in  the  ancient  institutions  of 
the  country,  and  indeed  the  whole  frame-work  of  English 
society. 

There  is  hardly  any  one  who  does  not  know  the  origin  of 
(he  free  institutions  of  England.  How,  in  1215,  a  coalition 
of  the  great  barons  wrested  Magna  Charta  from  John  ;  but  it 
is  not  quite  so  generally  known,  that  this  charter  was  renew- 
ed and  confirmed,  from  time  to  time,  by  almost  every  kin^. 
It  was  confirmed  upwards  of  thirty  times  between  the  thir- 
teenth and  sixteenth  centuries,  besides  which  new  statutes 
were  passed  to  confirm  and  extend  its  enactments.  Thus  it 
lived,  as  it  were,  without  gap  or  interval.  In  the  mean  time 
ihe  House  of  Commons  had  been  formed,  and  taken  its  place 
BUtong  the  sovereign  institutions  of  the  country.  Under  the 
Plantagenets  it  had  taken  deep  root  and  became  firmlj 
established  ;  not  that  at  this  time  it  played  any  great  part  or 
had  even  much  influence  m  the  government  ;  it  scarcely  ni 


CIVILUATION    IN    MODERM    EUROPF.  273 

iced  interfered  in  this  except  when  called  upon  to  do  -:o  by 
ihe  king,  and  then  only  with  hesitation  and  regret ;  afraid 
rather  of  bringing  itself  into  trouble  and  danger,  than  jealous 
of  auginenling  its  power  and  authority.  But  the  case  was 
different  when  it  was  called  upon  to  defen.l  private  rights,  the 
house  or  property  of  the  citizens,  or  in  short  the  rights  and 
privileges  of  individuals;  this  duty  the  House  of  Commons 
performed  with  wonderful  energy  and  perseverance,  putting 
forward  and  establishing  all  those  principles  which  have  be- 
come the  basis  of  the  English  constitution.  Under  the  Tu- 
dors  the  House  of  Commons,  or  rather  the  Parliament  alto 
gether,  put  on  a  new  character.  It  no  longer  defended 
individual  liberty  so  well  as  under  the  Plantagenets.  Arbi- 
trary detentions,  and  violations  of  private  rights,  which  becdme 
much  more  frequent,  were  often  passed  in  silence.  But,  as 
a  counterbalance  for  this,  the  Parliament  interfered  to  a  much 
greater  extent  thati  formerly  in  the  general  aflairs  of  govern- 
ment. Henry  VIH.,  in  order  to  change  the  religion  of  the 
country,  and  to  regulate  the  succession,  required  some  public 
support,  some  public  instrument,  and  he  had  recourse  to  Par- 
liament, and  especially  to  the  House  of  Commons,  for  this 
purpose.  This,  which  under  the  Plantagenets  had  ordy  been 
a  means  of  resistance,  a  guarantee  of  private  rights,  became 
now,  under  the  Tudors,  an  instrument  of  government,  of  gen- 
eral policy  ;  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  not- 
withstanding it  had  been  the  tool,  and  submitted  to  the  will 
of  nearly  all  sorts  of  tyrannies,  its  importance  had  greatly  in- 
creased ;  the  foundation  of  its  power  was  laid,  the  foundation 
of  that  power  upon  which  truly  rests  representative  govern- 
ment. 

In  taking  a  view,  then,  of  the  free  institutions  of  England 
At  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  we  find  them  to  consist  • 
first,  of  maxims — of  principles  of  liberty,  which  had  been 
constantly  acknowledged  in  written  documents,  and  of  which 
•he  legislation  and  country  had  never  lost  sight ;  secondly,  of 
precedents,  of  examples  of  liberty;  these,  it  is  true,  weic 
mixed  with  a  great  number  of  precedents  and  examples  of  ar 
opposite  nature ;  still  they  were  quite  sufhcient  to  maintain, 
to  give  a  legal  character  to  the  claims  of  the  friends  of  liberty, 
and  to  support  them  in  their  struggle  against  arbitrary  and 
tyrannical  government;  thirdly,  particular  and  local  institu- 
ti-ms,  pregnant  with  the  seeds  of  liberty,  the  jury,  the  right 


^74  GENERAL    HISTORV    OF 

of  holding  public  meetings,  of  bearing  arms,  to  which  niu-t 
bo  added  the  independence  of  municipal  administration  anc' 
jurisdiction  ;  fourthly  and  finally,  the  parliament  and  its  au- 
thority became  more  necessary  now  than  ever  to  the  monarchs, 
as  these  having  dilapidated  the  greater  part  of  their  inde- 
pendent revenues,  crown  domains,  feudal  riglits,  &c.,  could 
not  support  even  the  expenses  of  their  households,  without 
having  recourse  to  a  vote  of  parliament. 

The  political  state  of  England  then  was  very  different  to 
that  of  the  continent ;  notwithstanding  the  tyranny  of  the  Tu- 
dors,  notwithstanding  the  systematic  triumph  of  absolute  mo- 
narchy, there  still  remained  here  a  firm  support  for  the  new 
spirit  of  liberty,  a  sure  means  by  which  it  could  act. 

At  this  epoch,  two  national  wants  were  felt  in  England  :  on 
one  hand,  a  want  of  religious  liberty  and  of  a  continuation  of 
the  reformation  already  begun  ;  on  the  other,  a  want  of  poliii- 
cal  liberty,  which  seemed  arrested  by  the  absolute  monarchy 
now  establishing  its  power.  These  two  parties  formed  an 
alliance  ;  the  party  which  wished  to  carry  forward  religious 
reform,  invoked  political  liberty  to  the  aid  of  its  faith  and 
conscience  against  the  bishops  and  the  crown.  The  friends 
of  political  liberty,  in  like  manner,  sought  the  aid  of  the 
friends  of  popular  religious  reform.  The  two  parties  joined 
their  forces  to  struggle  against  absolute  power,  both  spiritual 
and  political,  now  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  the  king.  Such 
is  the  origin  and  signification  of  the  English  revolution. 

It  appears,  then,  to  have  been  essentially  devoted  to  the 
defence  or  conquest  of  liberty.  For  the  religious  party  it  wa.s 
a  means,  for  the  political  party  it  was  an  end  ;  but  the  object 
of  both  was  still  liberty,  and  they  were  determined  to  pursue 
it  in  common.  Properly  speaking,  there  had  been  no  true 
quarrel  between  the  episcopal  and  puritan  party  ;  the  struggle 
was  not  about  doctrines,  about  matters  of  faith,  properly  su 
called.  I  do  not  mean  that  these  were  not  very  positive,  very 
important,  and  differencea  of  great  consequence  between 
them  ;  but  this  was  not  the  main  aflair.  What  the  puritan  party 
jeished  to  obtain  trom  the  episcopal  was  practical  liberty  ;  this 
was  the  object  for  which  it  struggled.  It  must,  however,  he. 
admitted  that  there  did  exist  at  the  same  time,  a  religious  part) 
ivhich  had  a  system  to  found  ,  a  set  of  doctrines,  a  form  o( 
liscipline,  an  ecclesiast'c  constitution,  which  it  wished  to  es 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODEHN     EtJROPS.  276 

tublish — 1  mean  the  Presbyterians  ;  but  though  ic  did  ils  bet>t, 
it  liad  not  ihe  power  to  obtain  its  object.  Actif>g  upon  the 
defensive,  oppressed  by  the  bishops,  unable  to  take  a  step 
without  the  sanction  of  the  political  reformers,  its  necessary 
allies  and  chieftains,  liberty  naturally  became  its  predominant 
intf-rest ;  this  was  the  general  interest,  the  common  desire  of 
ij!  the  parties  which  concurred  in  the  movement,  liowv^'ve' 
diflcrent  in  other  respects  might  be  their  views.  Taking 
hcse  matters  then  altogether,  we  must  come  to  the  concli- 
yion,  that  tlic  English  revolution  was  essentia  ly  political  ;  it 
was  accomplished  in  the  midst  o<  a  religious  people  and  ' 
religious  age ;  religious  ideas  end  passions  oftta  became  its 
instruments  ;  but  its  primary  intention  and  its  definite  object 
were  decidedly  political,  a  tendency  to  liberty,  the  destruction 
of  all  absolute  power. 


I  shall  now  briefly  run  over  the  various  phases  of  this  revo- 
lution, and  analyze  it  into  the  great  parties  that  succeeded  one 
Biiolher  in  its  course.  I  shall  afterwards  connect  it  with  the 
general  career  of  European  civilization  ;  I  shall  show  its  place 
and  influence  therein ;  and  you  will  be  satisfied,  from  the  de- 
tail of  facts  as  well  as  from  its  first  aspect,  that  it  was  truly 
the  first  collision  of  free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  the  first 
onset  that  took  place  in  the  struggle  between  these  two  great 
and  opposite  powers. 

Three  principal  parties  appeared  upon  the  stage  at  this  im 
portant  crisis ;  three  revolutions  seem  to  have  been  contained 
within  it,  and  to  have  successively  appeared  upon  the  scene. 
In  each  party,  in  each  revolution,  two  parties  moved  together 
in  alliance,  a  political  party  and  a  religious  party ;  the  former 
took  the  lead,  the  second  followed,  but  one  could  not  go  with- 
out the  other,  so  that  a  double  character  seems  to  be  imprint- 
ed upon  it  in  all  its  changes. 

The  first  party  which  appeared  in  the  field,  and  undci 
whose  banners  at  the  beginning  marched  all  the  others,  was 
the  high,  pi.re-monarchy  party,  advocating  legal  reform 
When  the  revolution  began,  when  the  long  parliament  as« 
?embled  in  1640,  it  was  generally  said,  and  sincerely  believ' 
ed  by  many,  that  a  legal,  a  constitutional  reform  would  suffice 
that  the  ancient  laws  and  practices  of  the  country  were  sufB 
18 


276  GENERAL    HISTORY    VF 

cient  to  correct  every  abuse,  to  establish  a  system  of  govora 
ment  whic.i  would  fully  meet  the  wishes  of  the  public. 

This  party  highly  blamed  and  earnestly  desired  to  put  a  stof 
to  illegal  imposts,  to  arbitrary  imprisonments — to  all  acts,  ia 
deed,  contrary  to  the  known  law  and  usages  of  the  country 
But  under  these  ideas,  there  lay  hid,  as  it  were,  a  belief  in 
the  divine  right  of  the  king,  and  in  his  absolute  power.  A 
secret  instinct  seemed  to  warn  it  that  there  was  somethinjj 
false  and  dangerous  in  this  notion ;  and  on  this  account  it  ap- 
peared always  desirous  to  avoid  the  subject.  Forced,  how- 
ever, at  last  to  speak  out,  it  acknowledged  the  divine  right  of 
kings,  and  admitted  that  they  possessed  a  power  superior  to 
all  human  origin,  to  all  human  control  ;  and  as  such  they  de- 
fended it  in  time  of  need.  Still,  however,  they  believed  that 
this  sovereignty,  though  absolute  in  principle,  was  bound  to 
exercise  its  authority  according  to  certain  rules  and  forms  ; 
that  it  could  not  go  beyond  certain  limits  ;  and  that  iheso 
rules,  these  forms,  and  these  limits  were  sufficiently  establish- 
ed and  guarantied  in  Magna  Charta,  in  the  confirmative 
statutes,  in  the  ancient  laws  and  usages  of  the  country.  Such 
was  the  political  creed  of  this  party.  In  religious  matters,  it 
believed  that  the  episcopacy  had  greatly  encroached  ;  that 
the  bisliops  possessed  far  too  much  political  power ;  that  their 
jurisdiction  was  far  too  extensive,  that  it  required  to  be  re- 
strained, and  its  proceedings  jealously  watched.  Still  it  held 
firmly  to  episcopacy,  not  merely  as  an  ecclesiastical  institu 
tion,  not  merely  as  a  form  of  church  government,  but  as  a  ne- 
cessary support  of  the  royal  prerogative,  and  as  a  means  of 
defending  and  maintaining  the  supremacy  of  the  king  in  rriat- 
ters  of  religion.  The  absolute  power  of  the  king  over  the 
body  politic,  exercised  according  to  the  forms  and  within  the 
limits  legally  acknowledged ,  the  supremacy  of  the  king  as 
head  of  the  Church,  applied  and  sustained  by  the  episcopacy, 
wa^  the  twofold  system  of  the  legal  reform  party.  We  may 
enumerate  as  its  chiefs,  Lord  Clarendon,  Colepepper,  Capel, 
and,  though  a  more  ardent  friend  of  public  liberty.  Lord  Falk- 
land;  and  into  their  ranks  were  erlisted  nearly  all  the  nobili- 
ty and  gentry  not  servilely  devoted  to  the  court. 

Behind  this  party  advanced  a  second,  which  I  shall  call  (he 
ooiitical-revoluiionary  party ;  it  differed  from  the  foregoing, 
Inasmuch  as  it  did  not  believe  the  ancient  guarantees,  the 
undent  legal  barriers  sufficient  to  secure  the  rights  and  liber 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  277 

cies  of  the  people.  It  saw  that  a  great  change,  a  genuine 
revohuion  was  wanting,  noJ  only  in  the  forms,  but  in  the  spirit 
md  essence  of  the  government ;  that  it  was  necessary  to  de- 
prive the  king  and  his  council  of  the  uidimited  power  which 
they  possessed,  and  to  place  the  preponderance  in  the  House 
of  Commons  ;  so  that  the  governnient  should,  in  fact,  be  in 
the  hands  of  this  assembly  and  its  leaders.  This  party  made 
no  such  open  and  systematic  profepsion  of  its  principles  and 
intentions  as  I  have  done  ;  but  this  M^as  (he  real  character  of 
its  opinions,  and  of  its  political  tendencies.  Instead  of  ac- 
knowledging the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king,  it  contend* 
ed  for  the  sovereignty  of  the  House  of  Commons  as  the  re- 
presentatives of  the  people.  Under  this  principle  was  hid 
that  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  ;  a  notion  which  the 
party  was  as  far  from  considering  in  its  full  extent,  as  it  was 
from  desiring  the  consequences  to  which  it  might  ultimately 
lead,  but  which  they  nevertheless  admitted  when  it  presented 
itself  to  them  in  the  form  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  House  of 
Commons. 

The  religious  party  most  closely  allied  to  this  political-re- 
volutionary one  was  that  of  the  Presbyterians.  This  sect 
wished  to  operate  much  the  same  revolution  in  the  Church  as 
their  allies  were  endeavoring  to  effect  in  the  state.  They  de- 
sired to  erect  a  system  of  church  government  emanating  from 
the  people,  and  composed  of  a  series  of  assemblies  dove- 
tailed, as  it  were,  into  each  other;  and  thus  to  give  to  their 
national  assembly  the  same  authority  in  ecclesiastical  matters 
that  their  allies  wished  to  give  in  political  to  the  House  of 
Commons  :  only  that  the  revolution  contemplated  by  the  Pres- 
byterians was  more  complete  and  daring  than  the  other,  foras- 
much as  it  aimed  at  changing  the  form  as  well  as  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  government  of  the  Church  ;  while  the  views  of 
the  political  party  went  no  farther  than  to  place  the  infiuence, 
the  preponderance,  in  the  body  of  the  people,  without  medi- 
cating any  great  alteration  in  the  form  of  their  institutions. 

Hence  the  leaders  of  this  political  party  were  not  all 
favorable  to  the  Presbyterian  organization  of  the  Church. 
Hampden  and  Hollis,  as  well  as  some  others,  it  appears, 
would  have  given  the  preference  to  a  moderate  episcopacy, 
confined  strictly  to  ecclesiastical  functions,  with  a  greater  ex- 
tent of  liberty  of  conscience.  They  were  obliged,  however, 
V3  give  way,  as  they  could  do  nothing  without  the  assistance 
of  their  fanatical  allies. 


278  GENERAL    HISTORY    0¥ 

The  ihiid  party,  going  much  beyond  these  two,  dejlaroj 
Ihat  a  change  was  required  not  only  in  the  form,  but  ai'jo  in 
the  foundation  of  the  government ;  that  its  constitution  was 
radically  vicious  and  oad.  This  party  paid  no  respect  to  the 
past  life  of  England  ,  it  renounced  her  institutions,  it  swept 
away  all  national  remembrances,  it  threw  down  the  whole 
fabric  of  English  government,  that  it  might  build  up  another 
founded  on  pure  theory,  or  at  least  one  that  existed  only  in  ita 
own  fancy.  It  aimed  not  merely  at  a  revolution  in  the  govern- 
ment, but  at  a  complete  revolution  of  the  whole  soc'ial  system. 
The  party  of  which  I  have  just  spoken,  the  political-revolu- 
tionary party,  proposed  to  make  a  great  change  L'?  the  rela- 
tions in  which  the  parliament  stood  with  the  crown  ;  it  wished 
to  extend  the  power  of  the  two  houses,  particularly  of  the 
commons,  by  giving  to  it  the  nomination  of  the  great  officers 
of  state,  and  the  supremo  direction  of  affairs  in  general ;  but 
its  notions  of  reform  scarcely  went  beyond  this.  It  had  no 
idea,  for  example,  of  changing  the  electoral  system,  the  ju- 
dicial system,  the  administrative  and  municipal  systems  of  the 
country.  The  republican  party  contemplated  all  these  changes, 
dwelt  upon  their  necessity,  wished,  in  a  word,  to  reform  not 
oidy  the  public  administration,  but  the  relations  of  society, 
and  the  distribution  of  private  rights. 

Like  the  two  preceding,  this  party  was  composed  of  a  re- 
ligious sect,  and  a  political  sect.  Its  political  portion  were 
the  genuine  republicans,  the  theorists,  Ludlow,  Harrington, 
Milton,  &c.  To  these  may  be  added  the  republicans  of  cir- 
cumstance, of  interest,  such  as  the  principal  officers  of  the 
army,  Ireton,  Cromwell,  Lambert,  &-c.,  who  were  more  or  less 
sincere  at  the  beginning  of  their  career,  but  were  soon  con- 
trolled and  guided  by  personal  motives  and  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances. Under  the  banners  of  this  party  marched  tl;o 
religious  republicans,  all  those  religious  sects  which  would 
iicknowledge  no  power  as  legitimate  but  that  of  Jesus  Christ, 
and  who,  awaiting  his  second  coming,  desired  only  ihe  govern- 
ment of  his  elect.  Finally,  in  the  train  of  this  party  followed 
I  mixed  assemblage  of  subordinate  free-thinkers,  fanatics,  and 
evclle^s,  some  hoping  for  license,  some  for  an  equal  distribu- 
ion  of  property,  and  others  for  universal  sutfrage. 

In  1653,  after  twelve  years  of  struggle,  all  these  parties  had 
lurcessively  appeared  arvd  failed  ;   they  appear  at  least  to 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE  279 

have  thoiiglif  so,  and  the  public  was  sure  of  it.  Tlie  legal 
reform  party  quickly  disappeared  ;  it  saw  the  old  constitution 
and  laws  insulted,  trampled  under  foot,  and  innovations  forcing 
their  way  on  every  side.  The  political-revolutionary  party 
fcaw  the  destruction  of  parliamentary  forms  in  the  new  use 
w  hich  it  was  proposed  to  make  of  them — it  had  seen  the 
House  of  Commons  reduced,  by  the  successive  expulsions  of 
royalists  and  Presbyterians,  to  a  few  members,  despised,  de- 
losted  by  the  public,  and  incapable  of  governing.  The  re- 
publican partj  appeared  to  have  succeeded  beticr ;  it  seemed 
to  be  left  master  of  the  field  and  of  power  ;  the  House  o''  Com- 
mons consisted  of  but  fifty  or  sixty  members,  all  republicans. 
They  might  fancy  themselves,  and  call  themselves,  the  rulers 
of  the  country ;  but  the  country  rejected  their  government ; 
they  were  nowhere  obeyed  ;  they  had  no  power  either  over 
the  army  or  the  nation.  No  social  bond,  no  social  security 
was  now  left ;  justice  was  no  longer  administered,  or  if  it  was, 
it  was  controlled  by  passion,  chance,  or  party  Not  only  was 
there  no  security  in  the  relations  of  private  life,  but  the  high- 
ways were  covered  with  robbers  and  companies  of  brigands, 
Anarchy  in  every  part  of  the  civil,  as  well  as  of  the  moral 
world,  prevailed ;  and  neither  the  House  of  Commons,  nor 
the  republican  Council  of  State,  had  the  power  to  restrain  it. 

Thus,  the  three  great  parties  which  had  brought  about  the 
revolution,  and  which  in  their  turn  had  been  called  upon  to 
conduct  it — had  been  called  upon  to  govern  the  country  ac- 
cording to  their  principles  and  their  will — had  all  signally 
failed.  They  could  do  nothing — they  could  settle  nothing. 
"  Now  it  was,"  says  Bossuet,  "  that  a  man  was  found  who 
left  nothing  to  fortune,  which  he  could  gain  by  counsel  and 
foresight ;"  a  remark  which  has  no  foundation  whatever  in 
truth,  and  which  every  part  of  history  contradicts.  No  man 
ever  left  more  to  fortune  than  Cromwell.  No  one  ever  risked 
more — no  one  ever  pushed  forward  more  rashly,  without  de- 
sign, without  an  aim,  yet  determined  to  go  as  far  as  fate  would 
carry  him.  Unbounded  ambition,  and  admirable  tact  for  draw- 
ng  from  every  day,  from  every  circumstance,  some  new  pro- 
gress— the  art  of  profiting  by  fortune  without  seeming  ever  to 
Dosscss  the  desire  to  constrain  it,  formed  the  character  of 
Cromwell.  In  one  particular  his  career  was  singular,  and 
liffers  from  that  of  every  individual  with  whom  we  are  apt  to 
compare  him :  he  adapted  himself  to  all  the  various  changes, 


280  GENERAL    UISTORl    CF 

numerous  as  they  were,  aa  well  as  to  the  state  of  things  iht) 
led  to,  of  the  revolution.  He  appears  a  prominent  charactei 
n  every  scene,  from  the  rise  of  the  curtain  to  the  close  of  the 
piece.  He  was  now  the  instigator  of  the  insurrection — now 
the  abetter  of  anarchy—  now  the  most  fiery  of  the  revolutionisia 
T— now  the  restorer  of  order  and  social  re-organization  ;  thu? 
playing  himself  all  the  principal  parts  which,  in  the  common 
run  of  revolutions,  are  usually  distributed  among  the  greatest 
Bctors.  He  was  not  a  Mirabeau,  for  he  failed  in  eloquence. 
and,  though  very  active,  he  made  no  great  figure  in  the  firsi 
years  of  the  long  parliament.  But  he  was  successively  Dan- 
ion  and  Bonaparte.  Cromwell  did  more  than  any  one  to 
ilverthrow  authority  ;  he  raised  it  up  again,  because  there  wua 
no  other  than  he  that  could  take  it  and  manage  it.  The  coun- 
try required  a  ruler  ;  all  others  failed,  and  he  succeeded.  This 
was  his  title.  Once  master  of  the  government,  Cromwell, 
whose  boundless  ambition  had  exerted  itself  so  vigorously, 
who  had  so  constantly  pushed  fortune  before  him,  and  seemed 
determined  never  to  stop  in  his  career,  displayed  a  good  sense, 
a  prudence,  a  knowledge  of  how  much  was  possible,  which 
overruled  his  most  violent  passions.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
of  his  extreme  fondness  for  absolute  power,  nor  of  his  desire 
to  place  the  crown  upon  his  own  head  and  keep  it  in  his  fami- 
ly. He  saw  the  peril  of  this  latter  design  and  renounced  it; 
and  though,  in  fact,  he  did  exercise  absolute  authority,  he  saw 
very  well  that  the  spirit  of  the  times  would  not  bear  it ;  that 
the  revolution  which  he  had  helped  to  bring  about,  which  he 
had  followed  through  all  its  phases,  had  been  directed  against 
despotism,  and  that  the  uncontrollable  will  of  England  was  to 
be  governed  by  a  parliament  and  parliamentary  forms.  Ho 
endeavored,  therefore,  despot  as  he  was,  by  taste  and  oy 
deeds,  to  govern  by  a  parliament.  For  this  purpose  he  had 
recourse  to  all  the  various  parties ;'  he  tried  to  form  a  parlia- 
ment from  the  religious  enthusiasts,  from  the  republicans,  from 
the  Presbyterians,  and  from  the  officers  of  the  army.  Ho 
tried  every  means  to  obtain  a  parliament  able  and  willing  to 
lake  part  with  him  in  the  government ;  but  he  tried  in  vain  ; 
every  party,  the  moment  it  was  seated  in  St.  Stephen's,  en- 
deavored to  wrest  from  him  the  authority  which  he  exercised, 
and  to  rule  in  its  turn.  I  do  not  mean  to  deny  that  his  per- 
sonal interest,  the  gratification  of  his  darling  ambition  was  his 
drSt  care  ;  but  it  is  no  less  certain  that  if  he  had  abdicated 
his  authority  one  day,  he  would  have  been  obliged  to  resumi 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE.  28i 

the  next.  Puritans  or  royalists  republicans  or  officers,  ther< 
was  no  one  but  Cromwell  who  was  "n  a  state  at  this  time  to 
govern  with  any  thing  like  order  or  justice.  The  experiment 
had  been  made.  It  seemed  absurd  to  think  of  leaving  to  par 
liamonts,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  faction  sitting  in  parliament,  • 
government  which  it  could  not  maintain.  Such  vas  the  el- 
traordinary  situation  ol  Cromwell :  he  governed  by  a  systewt 
which  he  knew  very  well  was  foreign  and  hateful  to  the  coun- 
try, he  exercised  an  authority  which  was  acknowledged  ne- 
cessary by  all,  but  which  was  acceptable  to  none.  No  party 
looked  upon  his  domination  as  a  definitive  government 
Royalists,  Presbyterians,  republicans,  even  the  army  it&elf, 
which  appears  to  have  been  the  party  most  devoted  to  Crom- 
well, all  looked  upon  his  rule  as  transitory.  He  had  no  hold 
upon  the  affections  of  the  people  ;  he  was  never  more  than  a 
vis-allcr,  a  last  resort,  a  temporary  necessity.  The  protector, 
the  absolute  master  of  England,  was  obliged  all  his  life  to 
nave  recourse  to  force  to  preserve  his  power  ;  no  party  could 
govern  so  well  as  he,  but  no  party  liked  to  see  the  govern- 
ment in  his  hands  ;  he  was  repeatedly  attacked  by  them  al? 
at  once. 

Upon  Cromwell's  death,  there  was  no  party  in  a  situation 
to  seize  upon  the  government  except  the  republicans  ;  they 
did  seize  upon  it,  but  with  no  better  success  than  before.  This 
happened  from  no  lack  of  confidence,  at  least,  in  the  enlhu 
eiasts  of  the  party.  A  spirited  and  talented  tract,  published 
at  this  juncture  by  Milton,  is  entitled  "  A  Ready  and  Easy 
Way  to  establish  a  free  Commonwealth."  You  may  judge  oi 
the  blindness  of  these  men,  who  soon  fell  into  a  state  which 
showed  that  it  was  quite  as  impossible  for  them  to  carry  oi 
the  government  now  as  it  had  been  before.  Monk  undertook 
the  direction  of  that  event  which  all  England  now  seemed 
anxious  for.     The  Re.storation  was  accomplished 


The  restoration  of  the  Stuarts  was  an  event  generalir 
©leasing  to  the  nation.  It  brought  back  a  government  which 
still  dwelt  in  its  memory,  which  was  founded  upon  its  ancieiii 
rradiiions,  while,  at  the  same  time,  it  had  some  of  the  advan- 
tages of  a  new  government,  in  that  it  had  not  recently  beer 
tried,  in  thar  its  faults  and  its  power  had  not  lately  baen  fell. 
The  ancitr.t  monarchy  was  the  only  system  of  governmcni 


282  GENERAL    HISTORY    Ot 

which  had  not  .een  decried,  within  the  last  twenty  years  fo 
its  abuses  and  want  of  capacity  in  the  administration  of  the 
affairs  of  the  kingdom.  From  these  two  causes  the  restora- 
tion was  extremely  popular  ;  it  was  unopf>osed  by  any  but  the 
dregs  of  tlie  most  violent  factions,  wliile  the  public  rallie'l 
round  it  with  great  sincerity.  All  parties  in  the  country  seem 
ed  now  to  believe  that  this  offered  the  only  chance  left  of  & 
stable  and  legai  government,  and  this  was  what,  above  all 
things,  the  nation  now  desired.  This  also  was  what  the  res- 
toration seemed  especially  to  promise  ;  it  took  much  pains  to 
present  itself  under  the  aspect  of  legal  government. 

The  first  royalist  party,  indeed,  to  whom,  up<)n  the  return 
of  Charles  the  Second,  the  management  of  affairs  was  intrust- 
ed, was  the  legal  party,  represented  by  its  able  leader,  the 
Lord  Chancellor  Clarendon.  From  1660  to  1667,  Clarendon 
was  prime  minister,  and  had  the  chief  direction  of  affairs  :  he 
and  liis  friends  brought  back  with  them  their  ancient  prin- 
ciples of  government,  the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king, 
kept  within  legal  bounds,  limited  by  the  House  of  Commons 
as  regards  taxation,  by  the  public  tribunals,  in  matters  of  pri- 
vate riglil,  or  relating  to  individual  liberty, — possessing,  never- 
theless, in  point  of  government,  properly  so  called,  an  almost 
complete  independence,  and  the  most  decided  preponderance, 
to  the  exclusion  or  even  in  opposition  to  the  votes  ol  the  ma- 
jorities of  the  two  houses,  but  particularly  to  that  of  the  House 
of  Commons.  In  other  matters  there  was  not  much  to  com- 
plain of:  a  tolerable  degree  of  respp'jt  was  paid  to  legal 
order ;  there  was  a  tolerable  degree  of  solicitude  for  the  na- 
tional interests  ;  a  sufficiently  noble  sentiment  of  national  dig- 
nity was  preser\ed,  and  a  color  of  morality  that  was  grave 
and  honorable.  Such  was  the  character  of  Clarendon's  ad- 
ministration, during  the  seven  years  the  government  was  com- 
mitted to  his  charge 

But  tlie  fundamental  principles  upon  which  this  admin 'fi- 
Uation  was  based — the  absolute  sovereignly  of  the  king,  and 
a  government  beyond  the  preponderating  control  of  parliament 
—  woienow  become  old  and  powerless.  Notwithstanding  the 
'f  mporary  reaction  which  took  place  at  the  first  burst  of  the 
restoration,  twenty  years  of  parliamentary  rule  against  royaltjf 
had  destroyed  them  for  ever.  A  new  part)  soon  showed  it 
8i'lf  among  the  royaKsts  ;  libertines,  profligates,  wretches 
.vho,  imbued  with  the  ir' e  opinions  of  the  times,  and  seeinj 


CIVILIZATION    IN    MODERN    EUROPE  283 

that  powpr  was  with  the  commons, — caring  themselves  bu' 
little  about  legal  order,  or  the  absolute  power  of  the  king,— 
were  only  anxious  for  success,  and  to  discover  the  means  oli 
influence  and  power  in  whatever  quarter  they  were  likely  tr, 
t)o  found.  These  formed  a  party,  and  allying  themselves  wtlVj 
the  nationfd,  discontented  party,  Clarendon  was  discarded 

A  new  system  of  government  now  took  place  under  that 
portion  of  the  royalists  I  have  just  described  ;  profligates  and 
libertines  formed  the  administration  of  the  Cabal,  and  several 
others  which  followed  it.  What  was  their  character  ?  With- 
out inquietude  respecting  principles,  laws,  or  rights,  or  care 
♦"'X"  justice  or  truth  ;  they  sought  the  means  of  success  upon 
every  occasion,  whatever  these  means  might  be  ;  if  success 
depended  on  the  influence  of  the  comiMons,  the  commons 
were  everything  ;  if  it  was  necessary  to  cajole  the  commons, 
the  conunons  were  cajoled  without  scruple,  even  though  they 
had  to  apologize  to  them  the  next  day.  At  one  moment  they 
attempted  corruption,  at  another  they  flattered  the  nfitional 
wishes  ;  no  regard  was  shown  for  the  general  interests  of  the 
country,  for  its  dignity  or  Us  honor ;  in  a  word,  it  was  a  gov- 
ernment profoundly  selfish  and  immoral,  totally  unacquainted 
with  all  theory,  principle,  or  public  object ;  but,  withal,  in  the 
practical  management  of  afl'airs,  showing  considerable  intelli- 
gence and  liberality.  Such  was  the  character  of  the  Cabal 
ministry,  of  Earl  Danby's,  and  of  the  English  government 
from  1C67  to  1679.  Yet  notwithstanding  its  immorality,  not- 
withstanding its  disdain  of  all  principle,  and  of  the  true  inter- 
ests of  the  country,  this  government  was  not  so  unpopular 
not  so  odious  to  the  nation  as  that  of  Clarendon ;  and  this 
simply  because  it  adapted  itself  better  to  the  times,  better  un- 
derstood the  sentiments  of  the  people,  even  while  it  derided 
them.  It  was  neither  foreign  nor  antiquated,  like  that  of 
Clarendon  ;  and  though  infinitely  more  dangerous  to  the  coun* 
'ry,  the  people  accommodated  themselves  better  to  it. 

But  this  corruption,  this  servility,  this  contempt  of  public 
tights  and  public  honor,  were  at  last  carried  to  such  a  pitch 
jiH  to  be  no  longer  supportable.  A  general  outcry  was  raised 
against  this  government  of  r  ofligates.  A  patriotic  party,  sup- 
|»orte(l  by  the  nation,  became  gradually  formed  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  and  the  king  was  obliged  to  take  the  leaders  of 
it  into  his  council.     Lord  Essex,  the  son  of  him  whc  had  cona 


284  GENERAL    HI8T0RV    OF 

maniled  ihe  first  parliamentary  armies  in  the  civil  war,  Lon 
Russel,  and  Lord  Shaftesbury,  who,  without  any  of  the  vir- 
tues of  ihe  other  two,  was  much  their  superior  in  political 
fihilities,  were  new  called  to  the  management  of  aflairs.  The 
national  parly,  to  whom  the  direction  of  the  government  wais 
now  committed  proved  itself  unequal  to  the  task  :  it  could 
not  gain  possession  of  the  moral  force  of  the  country  :  it  coul^ 
neither  manage  the  interests,  the  habits,  nor  the  prejudices 
of  the  king,  of  the  court,  nor  of  any  with  whom  it  had  to  do 
It  inspired  no  party,  either  king  or  people,  with  any  confi- 
dence in  its  energy  or  ability;  and  alter  holding  power  for  a 
jhort  time,  this  national  ministry  completely  failed.  The 
virtues  of  its  leaders,  thfir  generous  courage,  the  beauty  of 
their  death,  have  raised  them  to  a  distinguished  niche  in  the 
temple  of  fame,  and  entitled  them  to  honorable  mention  in  the 
page  of  history  ;  but  their  political  capacities  in  no  way  cor- 
icsponded  to  their  virtues  :  they  could  not  wield  power,  though 
they  could  withstand  its  cornipflng  influence,  nor  could  they 
achieve  a  triumph  for  that  glorious  cause,  for  which  they  could 
so  nobly  die ! 

The  failure  of  this  attempt  left  the  English  restoration  in 
rather  an  awkward  plight ;  it  had,  like  the  English  revolution, 
in  a  manner  tried  all  parties  without  success.  The  legal 
ministry,  the  corrupt  ministry,  the  national  ministry,  having 
all  failed,  the  country  and  the  court  were  nearly  in  the  same 
situation  as  that  which  England  had  been  in  before,  at  the  close 
of  the  revolutionary  troubles  in  1653.  Recourse  was  had  to 
the  same  expedient:  what  Cromwell  had  turned  to  the  profii 
of  the  revolution,  Charles  II.  now  turned  to  the  profit  of  the 
crown  ;  he  entered  upon  a  career  of  absolute  power. 


james  II.  succeeded  his  brother  ;  and  another  question  now 
occame  mixed  up  with  tha».  of  despotism  :  the  question  of  ro 
ligion.  James  II.  wished  to  achieve,  at  the  same  time,  a 
triumph  for  popery  and  for  absolute  power:  now  again,  as  at 
the  conunencement  of  the  revolution,  there  was  a  religiouH 
struggle  and  a  political  struggle,  and  both  were  directed  against 
ihe  government.  It  has  often  been  asked,  what  course  afi'aira 
would  have  taken  if  William  III.  had  not  existed,  and  come 
over  to  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel  between  James  and  the  pe)- 
pio.      My  firm  belief  is  that  the  same  event  would  have  tukeii 


elVILTZATION    IN    monERN   EUROPE.     ,  *285 

olaco.  All  England,  except  a  very  small  part),  was  at  this 
time  arrayed  against  James  ;  and  it  seems  very  certain,  that, 
under  some  form  or  other,  the  revolution  of  1688  mnst  havd 
oecn  accomplished.  But  at  this  crisis,  causes  even  superior 
to  the  internal  state  of  England  conduced  to  this  event.  Il 
was  European  as  well  as  English.  It  is  at  this  point  that  the 
English  revolution  links  itself,  by  facts,  and  independently  of 
he  influence  of  its  example,  to  the  general  course  of  European 
civilization. 

While  the  struggle  which  1  have  just  be'^n  narrating  took 
place  in  England,  the  struggle  of  absolute  power  against  re- 
ligious and  civil  liberty — a  struggle  of  the  same  kind,  however 
difl'erent  the  actors,  the  forms,  and  the  theatre,  took  place  upon 
(he  continent — a  struggle  which  was  at  bottom  the  same,  and 
carried  on  in  the  same  cause.  The  pure  monarchy  of  Louis 
.XIV.  attempted  to  become  universal  monarchy,  at  least  it 
gave  the  world  every  reason  to  fear  it ;  and,  in  fact,  Europe 
did  fear  it.  A  league  was  formed  In  Europe  between  various 
political  parties  to  resist  this  attempt,  and  the  chief  of  this 
league  was  the  chief  of  the  party  that  struggled  for  the  civil 
and  religious  liberty  of  Europe — William,  Prince  of  Orange. 
The  Protestant  republic  of  Holland,  with  William  at  its  head, 
had  made  a  stand  against  pure  monarchy,  represented  and 
conducted  by  Louis  XIV.  The  fight  here  was  not  for  civil 
and  religious  liberty  in  the  interior  of  states,  but  for  the  in- 
.erior  independence  of  the  states  themselves.  Louis  XIV. 
and  his  adversaries  never  thought  of  debating  the  questions 
which  were  debated  so  fiercely  in  England.  This  struggle 
was  no*  one  of  parties,  but  of  states  ;  it  was  carried  on,  mt 
cy  political  outbreaks  and  revolutions,  but  by  war  and  negu- 
"iation  ;  still,  at  bottom,  the  same  principle  was  the  subject 
of  contention. 

It  happened,  then,  that  the  strife  between  absolute  power 
and  liberty,  which  James  II.  renewed  in  England,  broke  out 
At  the  very  moment  that  this  general  struggle  was  going  on 
in  Europe  between  Louis  XIV.  and  the  Prince  of  Orange 
the  representatives  of  these  two  great  systems,  as  well  in  tht 
afl'airs  which  took  place  on  the  Thames  as  on  the  Scheldt. 
The  league  against  Louis  was  so  powerful  that  many  sover- 
eigns entered  into  it,  either  publicly,  or  in  an  underhand, 
though  very  elTective  manner,  who  were  rather  opposed  than 


286  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CIVILIZATION. 

not  to  the  in'erests  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  The  Em 
peror  of  Germany  and  Innocent  XI.  both  supported  William 
against  France.  And  William  crossed  the  channel  to  Eng- 
land less  to  serve  the  internal  interests  of  the  country,  than 
to  draw  it  entirely  into  the  struggle  against  Louis.  lie  laid 
hold  of  this  kingdom  as  a  new  force  which  he  wanted,  bill 
of  which  his  adversary  had  had  the  disposal,  up  to  this  time, 
Rgainst  him.  So  long  as  Charles  II.  and  James  II.  reigned, 
Fagland  belonged  to  Louis  XIV.  ;  he  had  the  disposal  of  it^ 
Riid  had  kept  it  employed  agninst  Holland.  England  then 
was  snatched  from  the  side  of  absolute  and  universal  monai- 
chy,  to  become  the  most  powerful  support  and  instrument  of 
civil  and  religious  liberty.  This  is  the  view  which  must  be 
taken,  as  regards  European  civilization,  of  the  revolution  of 
1688 ;  it  is  this  which  gives  it  a  place  in  the  as.semblage  ol 
European  events,  independently  of  the  influence  of  its  exam- 
ple, and  of  the  vast  effect  which  it  had  upon  the  minds  and 
opinions  of  men  in  the  following  century. 

Thus,  I  think,  I  have  rendered  it  clear,  that  the  true  senst,, 
the  essential  character  of  this  revolution  is,  as  I  sa'd  at  the 
outset  of  this  lecture,  an  attempt  to  abolish  absolute  power  in 
the  temporal  order,  as  had  already  been  done  in  the  spiritual. 
This  fact  appears  in  all  the  phases  of  the  revolution,  from  ita 
first  outbreak  to  the  restoration,  and  again  in  the  crisis  of 
1688  :  and  this  not  only  as  regards  its  interior  progress,  but 
in  its  relations  with  Europe  in  general. 

It  now  only  remains  for  us  to  study  the  same  great  event, 
the  struggle  of  free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  upon  the  con 
I'inent  or  at  least  the  causes  and  preparation  of  this  event 
This  will  be  the  object  of  the  next  an''  finil  lecture 


LECTURE   XIV 

THE    FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 

1  RNDEA\  3RFD,  at  Our  last  meeting,  to  ascertain  the  true 
cliaracter  and  political  object  of  the  English  revolution.  We 
have  seon  that  it  was  the  first  collision  of  the  two  grert  facts 
to  which,  in  the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century,  all  the  civil- 
ization of  primitive  Europe  tended, — monarchy  on  the  one 
hsnd,  and  free  inquiry  on  the  other.  These  two  powers 
came  to  l)lows,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  for  the  first  time 
in  England.  It  has  been  attempted,  from  this  circumstance, 
to  deduce  a  radical  difference  between  the  social  state  of 
Flngland  and  that  of  the  Continent  ;  it  has  been  contended 
that  no  comparison  could  be  made  between  countries  so  dif- 
ferently situated  ;  and  it  has  been  affirmed,  that  the  English 
people  had  lived  in  a  sort  of  moral  separation  from  the  rest 
of  Europe,  analogous  to  its  physical  insulation. 

It  is  true  that  between  the  civilization  of  England,  and  that 
of  the  continental  states,  there  has  been  a  material  diflerence 
which  it  is  important  that  we  should  rightly  understand.  You 
have  alrendy  had  a  glimpse  of  it  in  the  course  of  these  lec- 
tures, 'f'he  developmer>t,  of  the  different  principles,  the  dif- 
ferent elemcTits  of  society,  took  place,  in  some  measure,  at 
the  same  time,  at  least  much  more  simultaneously  than  upon 
the  Continent.  When  I  endeavored  t»  determine  the  com- 
plexion of  Euroj)ean  civilization  as  compared  with  the  civili- 
zation of  ancient  ai\d  Asiatic  nations,  I  showed  that  the  formei 
was  varied,  rich,  and  complex,  and  that  it  had  never  fallen 
under  me  influence  oi  any  exclusive  principle  ;  that,  in  it,  the 
JifTerent  elements  of  the  social  state  had  combined,  contended 
with,  and  modified  each  other,  and  had  continually  been 
obliged  to  come  to  an  accommodation,  and  to  subsist  togetlicr. 
This  fact,  which  forms  the  general  character  of  European 
civilization,  has  in  an  especial  manner  been  that  of  the  civili- 
zation of  England  ;  it  is  in  that  country  that  it  has  appeared 
most  evidently  and  uninterruptedly;  it  is  there  thai  the  ci'ij 


288  GENERAL    HISTORY    Of 

and  religious  orders,  aristocracy,  democracy,  monarchy,  locaj 
and  central  institutions,  moral  and  political  development,  havt 
proceeded  and  grown  up  together,  if  not  with  equal  rapidity 
at  least  but  at  a  little  distance  from  each  other.  Under  tho 
reign  of  the  Tudors,  for  example,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  re- 
markable progress  of  pure  monarchy,  we  have  seen  the  dem- 
ocratic principle,  the  popular  power,  make  its  way  and  gain 
strength  almost  at  the  same  time  The  revolution  of  the 
seventeenth  century  broke  out ;  it  was  at  the  same  time  re- 
ligions and  political.  The  feudal  aristocracy  appeared  in  it 
in  a  very  enfeebled  state,  and  with  all  the  symptoms  of  decay  , 
it  was,  however,  still  in  a  condition  to  preserve  its  place  in 
this  revolution,  and  to  have  some  share  in  its  results.  The 
same  thing  has  been  the  case  in  the  whole  course  of  English 
history ;  no  ancient  element  has  ever  entirely  perished,  nor 
any  new  element  gained  a  total  ascendency  ;  no  particular 
principle  has  ever  obtained  an  exclusive  inlluence  There 
has  always  been  a  simultaneous  development  of  the  diflferent 
forces,  and  a  sort  of  negotiation  or  compromise  between  theil 
pretensions  and  interests. 

On  che  continent  the  march  of  civilization  had  been  less 
complex  and  complete.  The  different  elements  of  society, 
the  civil  and  religious  orders,  monarchy,  aristocracy,  democ- 
racy, have  developed  themselves,  not  together,  and  abreast,  as 
it  were,  but  successively.  Every  principle,  every  system, 
has  in  some  measure  had  its  turn.  One  age,  for  example,  has 
belonged,  I  shall  not  say  exclusively,  but  with  a  decided  pre 
dominance,  to  the  feudal  aristocracy ;  another  to  the  principle 
of  monarchy;  another  to  the  principle  of  democracy.  Com- 
pare thf  middle  ages  in  France,  with  the  middle  ages  in  Eng- 
land ;  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries  of  our 
history  with  the  corresponding  centuries  on  the  other  side  ol 
the  channel ;  you  will  find  in  France,  at  that  epocli,  feudalism 
in  a  state  of  almost  absolute  sovereignty,  while  monarchy  and 
the  deuiocratic  principle  scarcely  had  an  existence.  But  turn 
to  England,  and  you  will  find,  that  although  the  feudal  aris- 
tocracy greatly  predominated,  that  monarchy  and  democracy 
possessed,  at  the  same  time,  strength  and  importance.  Mon 
wcliy  triumphed  in  England  under  Elizabeth,  as  in  Franco 
under  Louis  XIV. ;  but  what  precautions  it  was  constrained 
to  take  !  how  many  restrictions,  sometimes  aristocratic,  some 
Umus  democratic,  it  was  obliged  to  submit  to!     In    Eimlaiic' 


CIVILIZATION     IN    MODERN     lamoPE. 


28l> 


every  system,  evory  principle,  has  had  its  time  of  strength 
%\,i]  success  ;  but  never  so  completely  ami  exclusively  as  on 
ihe  continent :  the  conqueror  has  always  been  constrained  to 
tolerate  the  presence  of  his  rivals,  and  to  leave  thtm  a  certain 
^haro  of  influence. 

To  this  difference  in  the  march  of  these  two  civilizations 
there  are  attached  advantages  and  inconveniences  which  are 
apparent  in  the  history  of  the  two  countries.  There  is  no 
d(uil)t,  for  example,  thai  the  simultaneous  developmciit  of  the 
lidercnt  social  elements  has  greatly  contributed  to  make  Eng- 
land arrive  more  quickly  than  any  of  the  continental  states,  at 
the  end  and  aim  of  all  society,  that  is  to  say,  the  establish- 
ment of  a  government  at  once  regular  and  free.  It  is  the 
very  nature  of  a  government  to  respect  all  the  interests,  all 
the  powers  of  the  state,  to  conciliate  them  and  make  them 
live  and  prosper  in  common  :  now  such  was,  beforehand,  and 
by  the  concurrence  of  a  multitude  of  causes,  the  despotism 
and  mutual  relation  of  the  different  elements  of  English  so- 
ciety ;  and,  therefore,  a  general  and  somewhat  regular  govern- 
ment had  the  less  difhculty  in  establishing  itself.  In  like 
/nanner  the  essence  of  liberty  is  the  simultaneous  manifesta- 
lion  and  action  of  every  interest,  every  kind  of  right,  every 
force,  every  social  element.  England,  therefore,  had  made  a 
nearer  approach  to  liberty  than  most  other  states.  From  the 
same  causes,  national  good  sense  and  intelligence  of  public 
adairs  must  have  formed  themselves  more  quickly  than  else- 
where ;  political  good  sense  consists  in  understanding  and 
appreciating  every  fact,  and  in  assigning  to  each  its  proper 
part ;  in  England  it  has  been  a  necessary  consequence  of 
the  state  of  society  a  natural  result  of  the  course  of  civili- 
zation. 

In  the  states  of  the  Continent,  on  the  contrary,  every  sys- 
tem, every  principle,  having  had  its  turn,  and  having  had  a 
more  complete  and  exclusive  ascendency,  the  development 
iook  place  on  a  larger  scale,  and  with  more  striking  circum- 
stances. Monarchy  and  feudal  aristocracy,  for  example,  ap- 
peared on  the  continental  stage  with  more  boldness,  extent, 
and  freedom.  Every  political  experiment,  so  to  speak,  was 
broader  and  more  complete.  The  result  was,  that  political 
iJeas — I  speak  of  general  ideas,  and  not  of  good  sense 
applied  to  the  conduct  of  affairs  ;  that  political  ideas  and  doc- 
Tines  too>  "  greater  elevation,  and  displayed  themselves  with 


290  GENERAL    HISTORV    OF 

inuch  greater  /ational  vigor.  Every  system  having,  in  some 
sort,  presented  itself  singly,  and  having  remained  a  lung  time 
on  the  stage  people  could  contemplate  it  in  its  general  aspect 
ascend  to  its  *irst  principles,  pursue  it  into  its  remotest  conse- 
quences, and  lay  bare  ita  entire  theory.  Whoever  observes 
will,  acme  degree  of  attention  the  genius  of  tlie  English  ua- 
lion,  will  be  struck  with  a  double  fact ;  on  the  one  hand,  its 
steady  good  sense  and  practical  ability  ;  on  the  other,  its  want 
of  general  ide-xs,  and  of  elevation  of  thought  upon  theoretical 
questions.  Whether  we  open  an  English  work  on  history 
jurisprudence,  or  any  other  subject,  we  rarely  find  llu  great 
and  fundamental  reason  of  things.  In  every  subject,  a  id  es- 
pecially in  the  political  sciences,  pure  philosophical  doctrines 
— science  proj)erly  so  called — have  prospered  nmch  mure  on 
the  continent,  than  in  England  ;  their  flights,  at  least,  have 
been  bolder  and  more  vigorous.  Indeed,  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  the  ditl'erent  character  of  the  development  of  civilization 
M  the  two  countries  has  greatly  contributed  to  this  result. 

At  all  events,  whatever  maybe  thought  of  the  inconvenien- 
ces or  advantages  which  have  been  produced  by  this  dilfer- 
ence,  it  is  a  real  and  incontestable  fact,  and  that  which  most 
essentially  distinguishes  England  from  the  Continent.  But, 
though  the  difl'erent  principles,  the  difi'erent  social  elements 
have  developed  themselves  more  simultaneously  there,  and 
more  successively  in  France,  it  does  not  follow  that,  at  bot- 
tom, the  road  and  the  goal  have  not  been  the  same.  Con- 
sidered generally,  the  continent  and  England  have  gone 
through  the  same  great  pliases  of  civilization  ;  events  have 
fc'lowed  the  same  course  ;  similar  causes  have  led  to  similai 
effects.  You  may  have  convinced  yourselves  of  this  by  the 
new  I  have  given  you  of  civilization  down  to  the  sixleenth 
century;  you  will  remark  it  no  less  in  studying  the  seveu- 
'.eenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  The  development  of  free  in- 
quiry, and  that  of  pure  monarchy,  almost  sinmlianeous  in 
England,  were  accomplished  on  the  Continent  at  pretty  loni^ 
intervals;  but  they  were  accomplished;  and  these  two  pow- 
grs,  after  having  successively  exercised  a  decided  predtwni 
nance,  came  also  into  collision.  The  general  march  of  so- 
ciety, then,  on  the  whole,  has  been  the  same  ;  and,  thougL 
iho  diiFerences  are  real,  the  resemblance  is  still  greater.  A 
rapid  sketch  of  modern  times  will  leave  you  no  doubt  on  thia 
iubje^t 


CIVILIZATION    IN    moDBRN    EUROPE.  291 

The  mnmont  we  cast  our  eyes  on  tlie  history  of  Em  ope  in 
tfic  sc\enleentli  and  eighteenth  centuries,  we  cannot  fail  tr 
perceive  that  France  marches  at  the  head  of  European  civili 
r.aiion.  At  the  begiiniing  of  this  course,  I  strongly  afTirmed 
this  fact,  and  endeavored  to  point  out  its  cause.  We  shal' 
now  find  it  more  strikingly  displayed  than  it  has  ever  beer 
he  fore 

Tlie  principle  of  pure  and  absolute  monarchy  had  predomi- 
nated in  Spain,  under  Charles  V.  and  Philip  II.,  before  its 
developnieiil  in  France  under  Louis  XIV  In  like  mannei 
the  principle  of  free  incpiiry  had  reigned  in  England  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  before  its  development  in  France  in  the 
eighteenth.  Pure  monarchy,  however,  did  not  go  forth  from 
Spain,  nor  free  incpiiry  from  England,  to  make  the  conquest 
of  Europe.  The  two  principles  or  systems  remained,  in  some 
Bort,  confined  within  the  countries  in  which  they  sprang  up 
They  required  to  pass  through  France  to  extend  their  do- 
minion ;  pure  monarchy  and  liberty  of  inquiry  were  compelled 
to  become  French  before  they  could  become  European.  That 
communicative  character  of  French  civilization,  that  social 
genius  of  France,  which  has  displayed  itself  at  every  period, 
was  peculiarly  conspicuous  at  the  period  which  now  engages 
our  attention.  I  shall  not  dwell  upon  this  fact ;  it  has  been 
expounded  to  you,  with  equal  force  of  argument  and  brillian- 
cy, in  tlie  lectures  in  which  your  attention  has  been  directed 
to  the  influence  of  the  literature  and  philosophy  of  France  in 
the  eighteenth  century.  You  have  seen  how  the  philosophy 
of  France  had,  in  regard  to  liberty,  more  influence  on  Europe 
than  the  liberty  of  England.  You  have  seen  how  French 
civilization  showed  itself  much  more  active  and  contagious 
than  that  of  any  other  country.  I  have  no  occasion,  there- 
fore, to  dwell  upon  the  details  of  this  fact  ;  I  avail  myself  of 
it  only  in  order  to  make  it  my  ground  for  making  France  com- 
prehend the  picture  of  modern  European  civilization.  There 
were,  no  doubt,  between  French  civilization  at  this  period, 
and  that  of  the  other  states  of  Europe,  difl'el-ences  on  which 
I  ought  to  lay  great  stress,  if  it  were  my  intention  at  pre?ent 
*,o  enter  fully  into  this  subject;  but  I  must  proceed  so  raj)idly, 
that  I  am  oldiged  to  pass  over  whole  nations,  and  whole  ages 
I  think  it  belter  to  confine  your  attention  to  the  course  of 
French  civilization,  as  being  an  iinage,  though  an  imperfect 
"me,  of  the  general  course  of  things  in  Europe. 

The  influeiKie  of  France  in  Europe,  in  the  seventeenth  and 
19 


£92  GENERAL    HISTOR/    OF 

eighteeiith  centuries,  appears  under  very  dillerent  aspects,  li. 
ilie  first  of  tliusc  centuries,  it  was  tlie  French  governnieui 
which  acted  upon  Europe,  and  tooli  the  lead  in  the  march  of 
general  civilization.  In  the  second,  it  was  no  longer  to  the 
French  government,  but  to  the  Frcnca  society,  to  France  hcr- 
•elf,  tliat  the  preponderance  belonged.  It  was  at  first  Louia 
XIV.  and  his  court,  and  then  France  herself,  and  her  public 
opinion,  tliat  attracted  the  attention,  and  swayed  the  minds  oi 
the  rest  of  Europe.  There  were,  in  the  seventeenlli  century 
nations,  who,  as  such,  made  a  more  prominent  apj)earance  on 
the  stage,  and  took  a  greater  share  in  the  course  of  events, 
than  the  French  nation.  Thus,  during  the  thirty  year  3'  war, 
the  German  nation,  and  the  revolution  of  England,  the  Eng- 
lish nation  played,  within  their  respective  spheres,  a  nuich 
greater  part  than  the  French  nation,  at  that  period,  played 
within  theirs.  In  the  eighteenth  century,  in  like  mannej, 
lliere  were  stronger,  more  respected,  and  more  forinidabb 
governments  than  that  of  France.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
Frederick  II.  and  Maria  Theresa  had  more  activity  and  weight 
in  Europe  than  Louis  XV.  Still,  at  both  of  these  piirioils, 
France  was  at  the  head  of  European  civilization,  fir.si  through 
her  government,  and  afterwards  througli  herself;  at  one  time 
through  the  political  action  of  her  rulers,  at  another  through 
ner  own  intellectual  development.  To  understand  thoroughly 
the  predominant  influence  on  the  course  of  civilization  in 
France,  and  consequently  in  Europe,  we  must  therefore  study, 
in  the  seventeenth  century,  the  French  government,  and  in 
the  eighteenth,  the  French  nation.  We  must  change  out 
ground  and  our  objects  of  view,  according  as  time  changes 
the  set  ne  and  the  actors. 

Whenever  the  government  of  Louis  XIV.  is  spoken  of, 
whenever  we  attempt  to  appreciate  the  causes  of  his  power 
and  influence  in  Europe,  we  have  little  to  consider  beyond 
tiis  splendor,  his  conquests,  his  magnificence,  and  the  literary 
glory  of  his  time.  We  must  resort  to  exterior  causes  in  ordei 
Ui  account  for  the  preponderance  of  the  Frencli  government 
in  Europe. 

But  this  preponderance,  in  my  opinion,  was  derived  from 
causes  more  deepl/  seated,  from  motives  of  a  more  serious 
kind.  We  must  not  believe  that  it  was  entirely  by  means  of 
■victories,  festivals,  or  even  master  pieces  of  gcuiius,  that  Louit 


CIVIblZATTON    IN    MODERN     EUROPE.  293 

K I V.  and  his  government  played,  at  that  period,  the  part  which 

to  one  can  dniiy  them. 

Many  of  yon  may  remember,  and  all  of  yon  have  heard  of 
ihc  eirect  which,  twenty-nine  years  ago,  was  prodnoed  by  the 
consular  government  in  France,  and  the  state  iri  which  il 
found  our  coimtry.  Abroad,  foreign  invasion  impending,  and 
continual  disasters  in  our  armies  ;  at  home,  the  elements  of 
I'overnment  and  society  in  a  state  of  dissolution  ;  no  revenues, 
no  public  order  ;  in  short,  a  people  beaten,  huml)led,  and  dis- 
organized— such  was  France  at  the  accession  of  the  consii- 
lar  government.  Who  is  there  that  does  not  remember  the 
prodigious  and  successful  activity  of  that  go%er'iment,  an  ac« 
tivity  which,  in  a  short  lime,  secured  the  independenco  of 
our  territory,  revived  our  national  honor,  re-organized  the  ad- 
ministration of  government,  re-moddled  our  legislation,  in 
short,  gave  society,  as  it  were,  a  new  life  under  the  hand  of 
power  ? 

Well — the  government  of  f.ouis  XIV.,  when  it  began,  did 
something  of  the  same  kind  for  France  ;  with  great  dillerences 
of  times,  of  proceedings,  and  of  forms,  it  prosecuted  and  at- 
tained very  nearly  the  same  results. 

RemendKr  the  state  into  which  France  had  fa-len  after  the 
government  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  and  during  the  minority 
of  Louis  XI \  :  the  Spanish  armies  always  on  the  fron- 
tiers, and  Fometimes  in  the  interior  ;  continual  danger  of  in- 
vasion ;  internal  dissensions  carried  to  extremity,  civil  war,  the 
government  weak,  and  decried  both  at  home  and  abroad. 
There  never  was  a  more  miserable  policy,  more  despised  in 
Europe,  or  more  powerless  in  France,  than  that  of  Cardinal 
Mazarin.  In  a  word,  society  was  in  a  state,  less  violent  per- 
haps, but  very  analogous  to  ours  before  the  18th  of  Brumaire. 
It  was  from  that  state  that  the  government  of  Louis  XIV.  de- 
livered France.  His  earliest  victories  had  the  eflect  of  the 
victory  of  Marengo  ;  they  secured  the  French  territory  and 
revived  the  national  honor.  I  am  going  to  consider  this  gov- 
ernment under  its  various  aspects,  in  its  wars,  its  foreign  re- 
lations, its  administration,  and  its  legislation  ;  and  you  wiji 
see,  I  believe,  that  the  comparison  which  I  speak  of,  and  t<j 
which  I  do  not  wish  to  attach  a  puerile  importance,  (for  I  care 
rery  little  about  historical  comparisons,)  you  will,  see,  I  say, 
that  this  comparison  han  a  real  foundation,  and  that  I  am  full; 
juslified  in  making  it. 


294  GENERAL    HlSTOHr    OF 

I  shall  first  speak  of  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  European 
wars  were  originally  (as  you  know,  and  as  I  have  several 
times  had  occasion  to  remind  you)  great  popular  movements ; 
impelled  by  want,  by  some  fancy,  or  any  other  cause,  whole 
populations,  sometimes  numerous,  sometimes  consisting  of 
mere  bands,  passed  from  one  territory  to  another,  'lliis  waa 
iho  general  character  of  European  wars,  till  after  the  crusades, 
at  the  end  of  the  ihirteenih  century. 

After  this  another  kind  of  war  arose,  but  almost  equally 
diffeient  from  the  wars  of  modern  times:  these  were  distant 
wars,  undertaken,  not  by  nations,  but  by  their  gi  rerning 
powers,  who  went,  at  the  head  of  their  armies,  to  seek,  at  a 
distance,  states  and  adventures.  They  quitted  their  country, 
abandoned  their  own  territory,  and  penetrated,  some  into 
Germany,  others  into  Italy,  and  others  into  Africa,  with  no 
other  motive  save  their  individual  fancy.  Almost  all  the  wars 
of  the  fifteenth,  and  even  a  part  of  the  sixteenth  century,  are  of 
this  character.  What  interest — and  1  do  not  speak  of  a  le- 
gitimate interest — but  what  motive  had  France  for  wishiujt; 
that  Charles  VI 11.  should  possess  the  kingdom  of  Naples  ' 
It  was  evidently  a  war  dictated  by  no  political  considerations 
the  king  thought  he  had  personal  claims  on  the  kingdom  of 
Naples  ;  and,  for  this  personal  object,  to  satisfy  his  own  per- 
sonal desire,  he  undertook  the  conquest  of  a  distant  country, 
which  was  by  no  lueans  adapted  to  the  territorial  conveniences 
of  his  kingdom,  but  which,  on  the  contrary,  only  endangered 
his  power  abroad  and  his  repose  at  home.  Such,  again,  waa 
the  case  with  regard  to  the  expedition  of  Charles  V.  into 
Africa.  The  la.st  war  of  this  kind  was  the  expedition  of 
Charles  XII.  against  Russia. 

The  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  were  not  of  this  description  ;  they 
were  the  wars  of  a  regular  government — a  government  fixed 
in  the  centre  of  its  dominions,  endeavoring  to  extend  its  con- 
quests around,  to  increase  or  consolidate  its  territory  ;  in 
slnrt,  they  were  political  wais.  They  may  have  been  just 
or  unjust,  they  may  have  cost  France  too  dear ; — they  may 
bo  objected  to  on  many  grounds — on  the  score  of  morality  oi 
excess  ;  but,  in  fact,  they  were  of  a  much  more  rational  char- 
acter than  the  wars  which  preceded  them  ;  they  wire  nu 
onger  fanciful  adventures  ;  they  were  dictated  by  serious  mo 
lives ;  their  objects  were  to  reach  some  natural  boundary 
»oine  population  who  spoke  the  same  language,  and  mighr 
b€  annexed  to  the  kingdom,  some  point  of  duf<!nc<»  against  t 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODF.RN     ElIROTE.  295 

iicitr'hbjring  power.  Personal  ambition,  no  doubt,  ha  1  a  share 
in  them  ;  but  cxaniine  tl\e  wars  of  Louis  XIV.,  one  after  the 
Mher,  05=pecially  those  of  the  early  part  of  his  reign,  and  yoo 
will  find  that  their  motives  were  reallj  political ;  you  will  see 
that  th(!y  were  conceived  with  a  view  to  the  power  and  safety 
of  France. 

This  fact  has  been  proved  by  results.  France,  at  tho  pre- 
goiit  day,  in  many  respects,  is  what  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV. 
mad''  her.  The  provinces  which  he  conquered,  Franche- 
Comtc,  Flanders,  and  Alsace,  have  remained  incorporated 
with  France.  There  are  rational  conquests  as  well  as  fool- 
ish ones  :  those  of  Louis  XIV.  were  rational ;  his  enterprises 
have  not  that  unreasoiial)le,  capricious  cliaracter,  till  then  so 
general ,  <heir  policy  was  able,  if  not  always  just  and  prudent. 

If  I  pass  from  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  to  his  relations  with 
foreign  slates,  to  his  diplomacy  properly  so  called,  I  find  an 
analogous  result.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  origin  of  di- 
plomacy at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century.  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  show  how  tlie  mutual  relations  of  governments  and 
states,  previously  accidental,  rare,  and  transient,  had  at  that 
period  become  more  regular  and  permanent,  how  they  had 
assumed  a  character  of  great  public  interest ;  how,  in  short, 
at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  and  during  the  first  half  of  the  six- 
eenth  century,  diplomacy  had  begun  to  perform  a  part  of  im- 
mense importance  in  the  course  of  events.  Still,  however.it 
was  not  till  the  seventeenth  century  that  it  became  really 
systematic  ;  before  then,  it  had  not  brought  about  long  alli- 
ances, great  combinations,  and  especially  combinations  of  a 
durable  n.:ture,  directed  by  fixed  principles,  with  a  steady 
object,  and  with  that  spirit  of  consistency  which  forms  the 
true  character  of  established  governments.  During  the  course 
of  the  religious  revolution,  the  foreign  relations  of  states  had 
been  almost  completely  under  the  influence  of  religious  inter- 
ests ;  the  Protestant  and  Catholic  leagues  had  divided  Europe 
between  them.  It  was  in  the  seventeenth  century,  under  the 
nfluence  of  the  government  of  Louis  XIV.,  that  diplomacy 
changed  its  character.  On  the  one  hand,  it  got  rid  of  the  ex- 
clusive influence  of  the  religious  principle;  alliances  and 
^K)litical  combinations  took  place  from  other  considerations. 
At  the  same  time  it  became  much  more  systematic  and  regu 
lar.and  was  always  directed  towaids  a  certain  object,  accord 
ing  to  permanent  principles.     The  regular  birth  of  the  system 


296  GENERAI     HISTORV    OF 

of  the  balance  of  power  in  Europe,  took  plicc  at  ihu  p'iiioil, 
It  was  uiiJer  the  government  of  Louis  XIV.  lliat  this  sysumi- 
with  all  ll»e  considerations  attached  to  it,  really  took  posses- 
sion of  the  politics  of  Europe.  When  we  incjuire  what  was, 
on  this  subject,  the  general  idea  or  ruling  principle  of  tht 
policy  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  following  seems  to  be  the  result. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  great  struggle  which  took  place  iu 
Europe  between  the  pure  monarcliy  of  ijouis  XIV.,  pretend- 
ing to  establish  itself  as  the  universal  systenj  of  monarchy, 
iu\d  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  the  independence  of  stales, 
under  the  command  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  William  III 
You  have  seen  that  the  great  European  fact,  at  that  epoch, 
was  the  division  of  the  powers  of  Europe  under  these  two 
banners.  But  this  fact  was  not  then  understood  as  I  now  ex- 
plain it;  it  was  hidden,  and  unknown  even  to  those  by  whom 
it  was  accomplished.  The  repression  of  the  system  of  pure 
monarchy,  and  the  consecration  of  civil  and  religious  liberty, 
was  necessarily,  at  bottom,  the  result  of  the  resistance  of 
Holland  and  her  allies  to  Louis  XIV.;  but  the  queslion  be- 
tween absolute  power  and  liberty  was  not  then  thus  ab.soiuiely 
laid  down.  It  has  been  frequently  said  that  the  propagation  of 
absolute  power  was  the  ruling  principle  in  the  diplomacy  of 
Louis  XIV.  I  do  not  think  so.  It  was  at  a  late  period,  and 
in  his  old  age,  that  this  consideration  assumed  a  great  part  in 
his  policy.  The  power  of  France,  her  preponderance  in  Eu- 
rope, the  depression  of  rival  powers, — in  short,  tlie  political 
interest  and  strength  of  the  state,  was  the  object  which  Louis 
XIV.  always  had  in  view,  whether  he  was  contending  against 
Spain,  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  or  England,  He  was  mucl" 
less  actuated  by  a  wish  for  the  propagation  of  absolute  power 
than  by  a  desire  for  the  aggrandizement  of  France  and  hi? 
own  government.  Among  many  other  proofs  of  this,  there  is 
one  which  emanates  from  Louis  XIV.  himself  We  find  ii 
his  Memoirs,  for  the  year  1666,  if  I  remember  rightly,  a  note 
conceived  nearly  in  these  terms  : — 

"  This  morning  I  had  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Sidney,  :ai 
English  gentleman,  who  spoke  to  me  of  the  possibility  of  re- 
viving tlie  republican  party  in  England.  Mr.  Sidney  asked 
me  for  £400,000  for  this  purj)Ose,  I  told  him  I  could  noi 
give  him  more  ihar  X'200,000.  He  prevailed  on  me  to  semi 
to  Switzerland  for  another  English  gentleman,  called  Mr.  Lud 
low,  that  I  might  convei'se  with  him  upon  the  same  suljeci 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN     KtmOPE. 


2^? 


We  find  accordingly,  in  Ludlow's  Memoirs,  about  the  sauu 
Ifiie,  a  paragraph  to  the  following  import : —  ... 

"  1  have  received  from  the  French  government  an  invitatior. 
to  go  to  Paris,  to  have  some  discussion  on  the  affairs  of  niy 
country;  but  I  distrust  this  goveriunent.  ' 

And,  in  fact,  LiuMow  did  remain  in  Switzerland. 

You  see  that  the  object  of  Louis  XIV.  at  that  time  was  to 
weaken  the  royal  power  of  Enghand.  He  fomented  internal 
dissensions,  he  labored  to  revive  the  repiil)lican  parly,  in  or 
Jer  lo  hinder  Charles  11.  from  becoming  too  powerful  in  hi^ 
own  country.  In  the  course  of  Barillon's  embassy  .o  England, 
the  same  fact  is  constantly  apparent.  As  often  as  the  authority 
of  Charles  II.  seems  to  be  gaining  the  ascendency,  and  the 
national  party  on  the  point  of  being  overpowered,  the  French 
ambassador  turns  his  inlhience  in  that  direction,  gives  money 
to  the  leaders  of  the  opposition,  and,  in  short  ccntends  against 
absolute  power,  as  soon  as  that  becomes  the  means  of  weak- 
ening a  rival  of  France.  Whenever  we  attentively  examine 
the  conduct  of  foreign  relations  under  Louis  XIV.,  this  is  the 
fact  which  we  are  struck  with. 

We  are  also  surprised  at  the  capacity  and  ability  of  the 
French  di|)lomacy  at  this  period.  The  names  of  Torcy, 
D'Avaux,  and  Bonrepaus,  are  known  to  all  well-informed  per- 
sons. When  we  compare  the  despatches,  the  memorials,  the 
skill,  the  management  of  these  counsellors  of  Louis  XIV., 
with  those  of  the  Spanisli,  Portuguese,  and  German  negotia- 
tors, we  are  struck  with  the  superiority  of  the  French  minis- 
ters ;  not  only  with  their  serious  activity  and  application  to 
business,  but  with  their  freedom  of  thought.  These  courtiers 
of  an  absolute  king  judge  of  foreign  events,  of  parties,  of  the 
demands  for  freedom,  ''nd  of  popular  revolutions,  much  more 
soundly  than  the  greater  part  of  the  English  themselves  of 
that  period.  There  is  no  diplomacy  in  Europe  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  which  appears  equal  to  the  diplomacy  of  France, 
except  perhaps  that  of  Holland.  The  ministers  of  John  de  Will 
and  William  of  Orange,  those  illustrious  leaders  of  the  part] 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  are  the  on  y  ones  who  appear  to 
have  been  in  a  condition  to  contend  with  the  servants  of  the 
great  absolute  king. 

You  see,  that,  whether  we  consider  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV. 
rr  his  diplomatic  relations,  we  arrive  at  the  same  results.  Wc 
can  easily  conceive  how  a  government  which  conduc  ed  in 
luch  a  manner  its  wars  and  negotiations,  must  have  acquirec' 


iH8  GENERAL    HISTORY     OF 

^eai  solidity  in  Europe,  and  assumed  not  only  a  fonnidablt-, 
but  an  able  and  imposing  aspect. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  eyes  to  the  iiiterior  of  France,  and  the 
administration  and  legislation  of  Louis  XIV. ;  we  shall  evei}'- 
whore  find  new  explanations  of  the  strength  and  splendor  of 
his  government. 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  precisely  what  ought  to  be  under- 
stood by  administration  ;'n  the  government  of  a  state.  Still, 
Mhen  we  endeavor  to  come  to  a  distinct  understanding  on  this 
5>ubject,  we  acknowledge,  1  believe,  that,  under  the  most  gene- 
ral point  of  view,  administration  consists  in  an  assemblage  ol 
means  destined  to  transmit,  as  speedily  and  surely  as  possible, 
the  will  of  the  central  power  into  all  departments  of  so- 
ciety, and,  under  the  same  conditions,  to  make  the  powers  of 
society  return  to  the  central  power,  either  in  men  or  money 
'^his,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  the  true  object,  the  prevailing 
character,  of  administration.  From  this  we  may  perceive 
that,  in  times  where  it  is  especially  necessary  to  establish 
union  and  order  in  society,  administration  is  the  great  means 
of  acconiplisliing  it, — of  bringing  together,  cementing,  and 
uniting  scattered  and  incoherent  elements.  Such,  in  fact,  was 
the  work  of  the  administration  of  Louis  XIV.  Till  his  time, 
nothing  had  been  more  difficult,  in  France  as  well  as  in  the 
rest  of  Europe,  than  to  cause  the  action  of  the  central  power 
to  penetrate  into  all  the  parts  of  society,  and  to  concentrate 
into  the  heart  of  the  central  power  the  means  of  strength 
possessed  by  the  society  at  large.  This  was  the  object  of 
Louis's  endeavors,  and  he  succeeded  in  it  to  a  certain  extent, 
incomparably  better,  at  least,  than  preceding  governments  haa 
done.  I  cannot  enter  into  any  details  ;  but  take  a  survey  of 
every  kind  of  public  service,  the  taxes,  the  higliways,  indus 
try,  the  military  administration,  and  the  various  estublishmenH 
which  belong  to  any  branch  of  administration  wliulever  ; 
diere  is  hardly  any  of  them  which  you  will  not  liiid  to  have 
either  been  originated,  developed,  or  greatly  meliorated,  under 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  It  was  as  administrators  that  tho 
greatest  men  of  his  time,  such  as  Colbert  and  Louvois,  dis 
played  their  genius  and  exercised  iheir  ministerial  functions* 
It  was  thus  that  his  goverrunent  acquired  a  comprehensive- 
iiess,  a  decision,  and  a  consistency,  which  were  wanting  in  all 
the  European  governments  around  him. 

1  he  same  fact  holds    with  respec*  to  this  govei-'iment,  ui 


CIVILIZAilON     IN     MOUKRN     RUROl'E  299 

.•vgar.ls  its  legislative  capacity.  I  will  again  refer  to  the  coni- 
oarison  I  made  in  the  outset  to  the  legislative  activity  of  the 
Udiisular  government,  anil  its  prodigious  lal)or  in  revising  and 
remodelling  the  laws.  A  labor  of  the  s;ime  kind  was  under 
waken  under  Lonis  XIV.  The  grea  ordinances  which  he 
passed  and  promulgated, — the  ordinances  on  the  criminal  law, 
L>n  forms  of  procedure,  on  couimerce,  on  the  navy,  on  waters 
md  Ibnisls, — are  real  codes  of  law,  which  were  constructor 
ill  the  same  manner  as  our  codes,  having  heen  discussed  in 
ilic  Council  of  State,  sometimes  under  the  presidency  of 
Lamoignon.  There  are  men  whose  glory  it  is  to  have  taken 
a  -share  in  this  labor  and  those  discussions, —  M.  Puss^rt,  for 
nxample.  If  we  luul  to  consider  it  simply  in  itself,  we  .sliould 
have  a  great  deal  to  say  against  the  legislation  of  Louis  XIV. 
Ii  is  full  of  faults  which  are  now  evident,  and  which  nobody 
can  dispute  ;  it  was  not  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  justice  and 
true  liberty,  but  with  a  view  to  public  order,  and  to  give  Jegu- 
'arity  and  stability  to  the  laws.  But  even  that  alone  was  a 
greai  progress  ;  and  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  legislative 
acts  of  Louis  XIV.,  very  superior  to  fhe  previous  state  of 
legislation,  powerfully  contributed  to  the  advancement  of 
French  society  in  the  career  of  civilization. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view,  then,  we  regard  this  govern- 
«nent,  we  can  at  once  discover  the  means  of  its  strength  and 
influence.     It  was,  in  truth,  the  first  government  which  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  eyes  of  Europe  as  a  power  sure  of  its 
position,  which  had  not  to  dispute  for  its  existence  with  do- 
mestic enemies,  which  was  tranquil  in  regard  to  its  territory 
and  its  people,  and  had  nothing  to  think  of  but  the  care  of 
governing.     Till  then,  all  the    European    governments    had 
been  incessantly  plunged  inti   wars  which  deprived  them  of 
security  as  well  as  leisure,  oi  so  assailed  by  parties  and  ene- 
mies at  home,  that  they  passed  their  time  in  fighting  for  their 
existence.     The  government  of  Louis  XIV.  appeared  to  be 
the  first  that  was  engaged  solely  in   managing  its  aflairs  like 
a  power  at  once  definitive  and  progressive,   which   was  not 
nfraid  of  making  innovations,  because  it  reckoned  upon  the 
future.     In  fact,  few  governments  have  been   more  given  to 
ijinovation.     Compare    it    with   a   government  of  the    same 
nature,    with    the    pure   monarchy   of   Philip    II.   in    Spain, 
*vhich  was  more  absolute  than  that  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  ye 
•  as  less  regular  and  tranquil.      How  did  Philip  II.  succeed  it 


300  GENERAL    HI8T0RV    OF 

establishing  absolute  power  in  Spain  ?  By  stifling  oi  eiy  kind 
of  activity  in  the  country  ;  by  refusing  his  sanction  to  everj 
kind  of  improvement,  and  thus  rendering  the  state  of  Spain 
completely  stationary.  The  government  of  Louis  XIV.,  or 
the  contrary,  was  active  in  every  kind  of  innovation,  aac^ 
favorable  to  the  progress  of  letters,  arts,  riches — favorable,  it 
a  word,  to  civilization.  These  were  the  true  causes  of  its  pre- 
ponderance in  Europe — a  preponderance  so  great,  that  it  wag, 
on  the  Continent,  during  the  seventeenth  century,  iKit  only  for 
sovereigns,  but  even  for  nations,  the  type  and  model  of  goverrv 
nionts 

It  is  frequently  asked,  ind  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  asking, 
how  a  power  so  splendid  and  well  established — to  judge  from 
the  circumstances  I  have  pointed  out  to  you,  should  have  fal- 
len so  quickly  into  a  state  of  decay  ?  how,  after  having  j)lay- 
cd  so  great  a  part  in  Europe,  it  became  in  the  following  cen- 
tury so  inconsiderable,  so  weak,  and  so  little  respected  ?  The 
fact  is  undenialile  :  in  the  seventeenth  century,  the  French 
government  stood  at  llie  head  of  European  civilization.  In  the 
eighteenth  century  it  disappeared  ;  it  was  the  society  of 
France,  separated  from  its  government,  and  often  in  a  hostile 
position  towards  it,  which  led  the  way  and  guided  the  pro- 
gress of  the  European  world. 

It  is  here  that  we  discover  the  incorrigible  vice  and  infalli- 
ble eflect  of  absoh'le  power.  I  shall  not  enter  into  any  detail 
respecting  the  fan.  s  of  the  govenmient  of  Louis  XIV.  ;  and 
there  were  grent  ones.  I  shall  not  speak  either  of  the  war  of 
the  succession  in  Spain,  or  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes,  or  the  excessive  expenditure,  or  many  other  fata 
measures  which  affected  its  character.  I  will  take  the  merits 
of  the  govenmient,  such  as  I  have  described  them.  I  wil. 
admit  that,  probably,  there  never  was  an  ab.s(ilute  |)ower  more 
completely  acknowledged  by  its  age  and  nation,  or  which  lia? 
rendered  more  real  services  to  the  civilization  of  its  countr) 
as  well  as  to  Europe  in  general.  It  followed,  indeed,  Iron. 
the  single  circumstance,  that  this  government  had  no  othei 
principle  than  absolute  power,  and  rested  entiiely  on  this 
Lasis,  that  its  decay  was  so  sudden  and  deserved.  What  was 
eflsentially  wanting  to  France  in  Louis  XIV.'s  time  was  in 
Btilutions,  political  powers,  which  were  independent  and  self 
i.'xistent.  capaljle,  in  short,  of  spontaneous  actioi     und  resi.sl 


CI.VLIZATION    IN     MODT.RN     KHROl'E. 


301 


»nco  riie  ancient  Frenrli  institutions,  if  they  deseive  thr 
Tame,  uo  longer  subsisted  ;  Louis  XIV.  completed  their  il©- 
ttruction.  He  took  care  not  to  r(!j)lace  them  by  new  instila- 
tions  ;  they  would  have  constrained  him,  and  he  did  not  choose 
constraint.  Tlie  will  and  action  of  the  central  power  wen 
all  that  appeared  with  splendor  at  that  epoch.  The  govenj 
went  of  Louis  XIV.  is  a  great  fact,  a  powerful  and  brillian 
fact,  out  it  was  built  upon  sand.  Free  institutions  are  a  guaran 
tee,  not  only  for  the  prudence  of  govern.nents,  but  also  for  their 
stability.  No  system  can  endure  otherwise  than  by  institutions. 
Wherever  absolute  power  has  been  permanent,  it  lias  beer 
based  upon,  and  supported  by,  real  institutions  ;  sometimes  by 
the  division  of  society  into  aisles,  distinctly  separated,  and 
Bometimes  by  a  system  of  religious  institutions.  Under  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  power,  as  well  as  liberty,  needed  infJtu- 
tions.  There  was  nothing  in  France,  at  that  time,  to  protect 
either  the  country  from  the  illegitimate  action  of  the  govern- 
ment, or  the  government  itself  against  the  inevitable  action  of 
time.  Thus,  we  behold  the  govermnent  assisting  its  own  de- 
cay. It  was  not  Louis  XIV.  ordy  who  grew  old,  and  became 
feeble,  at  the  end  of  his  reign  ;  it  was  the  whole  system  of 
absolute  power.  Pure  monarchy  was  as  much  worn  out  in 
1712,  as  the  monarch  himself.  And  the  evil  was  so  much 
the  more  serious,  that  Louis  XIV.  had  destroyed  political 
habits  as  well  as  political  institutions.  There  can  be  no  po- 
litical habits  without  independence  He  only  who  feels  that 
he  is  st'-ong  in  himself,  is  always  capable  either  of  serving 
the  ruling  'ower,  or  of  contending  with  it.  Energetic  charac- 
ters disappear  along  with  independent  situations,  atul  a  free 
and  high  spirit  arises  from  the  security  of  rights. 

We  may,  then,  describe  in  tlie  following  terms  the  state  in 
which  the  French  nation  and  the  power  of  the  governmem 
were  left  by  Louis  XIV. :  in  society  there  was  a  great  de 
velopment  of  wealth,  strength,  and  intellectual  activity  OJ 
every  kind  ;  and,  along  with  this  progressive  society,  therti 
was  a  government  essentially  stationary,  and  without  means 
to  adapt  itself  to  the  movement  of  the  people ;  devoted, 
after  half  a  century  of  great  splendor,  to  immobility  and 
ii-eakness,  and  already  fallen,  even  in  the  lifetime  of  its  foun- 
let,  into  a  decay  almost  resembling  dissolution.  Such  was- 
the  situation  of  France  at  the  expiration  of  the  seventeenth 


302  GENERAL    HISTORY    Oif 

century,  and  which  impressed  upon  the  subsequent  period  sc 
diflerent  a  directim  and  character. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  remark  that  a  great  move- 
ment of  the  liuinan  mind,  tnat  a  spirit  of  free  inquiry,  waf 
ihe  predominant  feaoire,  the  essential  fact  of  the  eiahteentli 
century.  You  have  already  heard  from  this  chair  a  great 
deal  on  this  topic  ;  you  ha"e  already  heard  this  momentous 
period  cnaracterized,  by  the  voices  of  a  philosophic  orator 
and  an  eloquent  philosopher.*  ^  cannot  pretend,  in  the 
small  space  of  time  which  remains  to  me,  to  fullow  all  the 
phases  of  the  great  revolution  which  was  then  accomplished  j 
neither,  however,  can  I  leave  you  without  calling  your  atten- 
tion to  some  of  its  features  which  perhaps  have  been  too  little 
remarked. 

The  first,  which  occurs  to  me  in  the  outset,  and  which,  in- 
deed, I  have  already  pointed  out,  is  the  almost  entire  disap- 
pearance (so  to  speak)  of  the  government  in  the  course  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  the  appearance  of  the  human  mind 
as  the  principal  and  almost  sole  actor.  Excepting  in  what 
concerned  foreign  relations,  under  the  ministry  of  .he  Duke 
de  Choiseul,  and  in  some  great  concessions  made  to  the  gen- 
eral bent  of  the  public  mind,  in  the  American  war,  for  exam- 
ple • — excepting,  1  say,  in  some  events  of  this  kind,  there 
perhaps  never  was  a  government  so  inactive,  apathetic,  and 
uierl,  as  the  French  goverinnent  of  thai  time.  In  place  of 
the  ambitious  and  active  government  of  Louis  XIV.,  which 
was  everywhere,  and  at  the  head  of  everything,  you  have  a 
power  whose  only  endeavor,  so  much  did  it  tremble  for  its 
own  safety,  was  to  slink  from  public  view — to  hide  itself  from 
danger.  It  was  the  nation  which,  by  its  intellectual  movement, 
interfered  with  every thiig,  and  alone  possessed  moral  author- 
ity, the  only  real  authority. 

A  second  characteristic  which  strikes  me  in  the  state  of 
the  human  mind  in  the  eighteenth  century,  is  the  universality 
of  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry.  Till  then,  and  particidarly  in  the 
«ixteenth  century,  free  inquiry  had  been  exercised  in  a  very 
limited  field;  its  ol)jecl  had  been  sometimes  religious  qui  s- 
lions,  aiid  sometimes  religious  and  political  questions  conjoin- 
od  ;  out  its  pretensions  did  not  extend  much  further.  Iji  the 
eighteenth  century,  on  the  contrary,  free  inquiry  became  uni 

*  The  lectures  of  Viliernain  and  Cousin. 


ClVll.rZATION    IN    MODERN      lUROPR.  303 

rersril  in  its  character  and  objects :  religion,  polilits,  pure 
philosophy,  man  and  society,  moral  and  physical  science— 
everything  became,  at  once,  the  snl)ject  of  study,  doiil)t,  and 
system  ;  the  ancient  sciences  were  overtnrned  ;  new  sciences 
sprang  up.  It  was  a  movement  wliicli  proceeded  in  every 
direction,  though  emanating  from  one  and  the  same  impulse 
This  movement,  moreover,  had  one  peculiarity,  which  per 
haps  can  be  met  with  at  no  other  time  in  the  history  of  the 
world  ;  that  of  being  purely  speculative.  Until  that  time,  in 
all  great  human  revolutions  action  had  promptly  mingled  it- 
self with  specuhation.  Thus,  in  the  sixteenth  century  the 
religious  revolution  had  begun  by  ideas  and  discussions  puiely 
intellectual  ;  but  it  had,  almost  inunediatcly,  led  to  events. 
The  leaders  of  the  intellectual  parties  had  very  speedily  be- 
come leaders  of  political  parties  ;  the  realities  of  life  had 
mingled  with  the  workings  of  the  intellect.  The  same  thing 
had  been  the  case,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  in  the  English 
revolution.  In  France,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  we  see  the 
human  mind  exercising  itself  upon  all  sulijects,— upon  ideas 
vvhicli,  from  their  connexion  with  the  real  interests  of  life 
necessarily  had  the  most  prompt  and  powerful  influence  upon 
events.  And  yet  the  promoters  of,  and  partakers  in,  these 
great  discussions,  continued  to  be  strangers  to  every  kind  of 
practical  activity,  pure  speculators,  who  observed,  judged,  and 
spoke  without  ever  proceeding  to  practice.  There  never  was 
a  period  in  which  the  government  of  facts,  and  external  real- 
ities, was  so  completely  distinct  from  the  government  of 
thought.  The  separation  of  spiritual  from  temporal  affairs 
has  never  been  real  in  Europe,  except  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. For  the  first  time,  perhaps,  the  sp'ritual  world  deve- 
loped itself  quite  separately  from  the  temporal  world  ;  a  fact 
of  the  greatest  importance,  and  which  had  a  great  influence 
.on  the  course  of  events.  It  gave  a  singular  character  of  pride 
and  inexperience  to  the  mode  of  thinking  of  the  time  :  phi- 
losophy was  never  more  ambitious  of  governing  the  world,  and 
never  more  completely  failed  in  its  object.  This  necessarily 
'ed  to  results  ;  the  intellectual  movement  necessarily  gave,  al 
Inst,  an  impulse  to  external  events  ;  and,  as  they  had  been 
totally  separated,  their  meeting  was  so  much  the  more  difli 
tult^  and  their  collision  so  much  the  more  violent. 

We  can  hardly  now  be   surprised  at  another   character  of 
tlie  human  mind  at  this  epoch,  I  mean  its  extreme  boldness. 


504  GENERAL    :[ISTORY     H 

Prior  to  this,  ils  greatest  activity  had  alwa/b  been  restrained 
by  certain  barriers  ;  man  had  lived  in  the  midst  of  facts,  some 
of  which  inspired  him  with  caution,  and  repressed,  to  a  cer- 
tain degree,  his  tendency  to  movement.  In  the  eigliteenlli 
century,  I  should  really  be  at  a  loss  to  say  what  external  ficts 
were  respected  by  the  human  mind,  or  exercised  any  inllu- 
ence  over  it  ;  )•  entertained  nothing  but  hatred  or  contempt 
for  the  whole  social  system  ;  it  considered  itself  called  upon 
to  reform  all  things  ;  it  looked  upon  itself  as  a  sort  of  creator  , 
institutions,  opinions,  manners,  society,  even  man  himself, — 
all  seemed  to  require  to  be  re-modelled,  and  huma;i  reason  un- 
dertook the  task.  Whenever,  before,  had  the  human  mind 
displayed  such  daring  boldness? 


Sucli,  then,  was  the  power  which,  in  tlie  course  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  was  confronted  with  what  remained  of  the 
government  of  fiouis  XIV.  It  is  clear  to  us  all  that  a  colli- 
sion between  these  two  unequal  forces  was  unavoidable.  The 
leading  fact  of  the  English  revolulion,  the  struggle  between 
free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  was  therefore  sure  to  be  re 
peated  in  Franco.  The  dilVerences  between  the  two  cases, 
undoubtedly,  were  great,  and  necessarily  perpetuated  them 
selves  in  the  results  of  each  ;  but,  at  bott<nn,  the  general  sil 
uation  of  both  was  similar,  and  the  event  itself  must  be  ex 
plained  in  the  same  maimer. 

I  by  no  means  intend  to  exhibit  the  infinite  consequences 
of  this  collision  in  France.  I  am  drawing  towards  the  close 
of  this  course  of  lectures,  and  must  hasten  to  conclude.  1 
wish,  however,  before  quitting  you,  to  call  your  attention  to 
the  gravest,  and,  in  my  opinion,  the  most  instructive  fad 
which  this  great  spectacU  has  revealed  to  us.  It  is  the  dan* 
ger,  the  evil,  the  insurmountable  vice  of  absolute  power 
wheresoever  it  may  exist,  whatsoever  Jtame  it  may  bear,  and 
for  whatever  object  it  may  be  exercised.  We  havt  seen  that 
the  govenmient  of  Louis  XIV.  perished  almost  from  this  sin- 
jgle  cause,  'llie  power  which  succeeded  it,  the  human  mind, 
l\\e  real  sovereign  of  the  eigliteenth  century,  underwent  the 
same  fate  ;  in  its  turn,  it  possessed  almost  absolute  power  ;  in 
Its  turn  Its  confidence  in  itself  became  excessive.  Its  move- 
ment was  noble,  good,  and  useful ;  and,  were  it  necessary  fol 
me  ij  give  a  general  opinion  on  the  subject,  I  sho\dd  rcudiU 


CIVILIZATION     IN     MODERN     EUROPE.  305 

Pfiy  that  the  eighteenth  century  appears  to  me  one  of  the 
grandest  epochs  in  the  history  of  the  worhl,  that  perhaps 
wliich  has  done  the  greatest  service  to  mankind,  and  has  pro- 
duced tlie  greatest  and  most  general  improvement.  If  I  were 
called  upon,  however,  to  pass  judgment  upon  its  ministiy  (if 
I  may  use  such  an  expression),  I  should  pronounce  sentence 
in  its  favor.  It  is  not  the  less  true,  however,  that  the  absfw 
Kite  power  exercised  at  tliis  period  by  the  human  mind  cor 
rupted  it,  and  that  it  entertained  an  illegitimate  aversion  to  the 
subsisting  state  of  tilings,  and  to  all  opniions  which  differed 
from  the  prevailing  one  ; — an  aversion  which  led  to  error  and 
tyranny.  The  proportion  of  error  and  tyranny,  indeed,  which 
mingled  itself  in  the  triumph  of  human  reason  at  tlie  end  of 
the  century — a  proportion,  the  greatness  of  which  cannot  be 
dissembled  and  which  ought  to  be  exposed  instead  of  being 
passed  over — this  infusion  of  error  and  tyranny,  I  say,  was  a 
consequence  of  the  delusion  into  which  the  human  mmd  was 
led  at  that  period  by  the  extent  of  its  power.  It  is  the  duty, 
and  will  he,  I  believe,  the  peculiar  event  of  our  time,  to  ac- 
knowledge that  all  power,  whether  intellectual  or  temporal, 
whether  belonging  to  governments  or  people,  to  philosophers 
or  ministers,  in  whatever  cause  it  may  be  exercised — that  all 
.luman  power,  I  say,  bears  within  itself  a  natural  vice,  a  prin- 
ciple of  feebleness  and  abuse,  which  renders  it  necessary  that 
it  should  be  limited.  Now,  there  is  nothing  but  the  general 
freedom  of  every  right,  interest,  and  opinion,  the  free  mani- 
festation and  legal  existence  of  all  these  forces — theie  is 
•aothing,  1  say,  but  a  system  which  ensures  all  this,  can  re- 
strain every  particular  force  or  power  within  its  legitimate 
jounds,  and  prevent  it  from  encroaching  on  the  o'hers,  so  as 
to  produce  the  real  and  beneficial  subsistence  of  (ree  inquiry. 
For  us,  this  is  the  great  result,  the  great  moral  of  the  struggle 
which  took  place  at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  c^^ntury,  be- 
tween what  maybe  called  temporal  absolute  power  aiid  spirit 
ual  absolute  power 


I  am  now  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  task  which  I  undrrlook 
Vou  will  remember,  that,  in  beginning  this  course,  I  staled 
hat  my  object  was  to  give  you  a  general  view  of  the  develop- 
ment of  European  civilization,  from  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire  to  the  present  time.  I  have  passed  very  rapidly  ocei 
this  long  career;  so  rapidly  that  it  has  been  quite  out  of  m} 


306  GENERAL    HISTORY    OF    CI VILIZATION. 

power  even  to  touch  upon  every  tiling  of  in^.portance,  at  tc 
bring  proofs  of  those  facts  to  which  I  liave  drawn  your  atten- 
tion. 1  h;ipe,  however,  that  I  liave  attained  my  end,  which 
was  to  mark  the  great  epochs  of  the  development  of  modern 
society.  Allow  me  to  add  a  word  more.  I  cnde:ivored,  at  ihe 
outset,  to  duline  civilization,  to  describe  the  fact  which  bears 
that  name.  Civilization  appeared  to  me  to  consist  of  two 
principal  facts,  the  development  of  human  society  and  that  of 
man  himself;  on  the  one  hand,  his  political  and  social,  and 
on  the  other,  his  internal  and  moral,  advancement.  This  year 
I  have  confined  myself  to  the  history  of  society.  I  have  ex- 
hibited civilization  only  in  its  social  point  of  view.  I  have 
said  nothing  of  the  development  of  man  himself.  1  have  made 
no  attempt  to  give  you  the  history  of  opinions, — of  the  moral 
progress  of  human  nature.  I  intend,  when  we  meet  again 
here,  next  season,  to  confine  myself  especially  to  France  , 
to  study  with  you  the  history  of  French  civilization,  but  to 
study  it  in  detail  and  under  its  various  aspects.  I  shall  try 
to  make  you  acquainted  not  only  with  the  history  of  society 
in  France,  but  also  with  that  of  man  ;  to  follow,  along  with 
you,  the  progress  of  institutions,  opinions,  and  intellectual  la- 
bors of  every  sort,  and  thus  to  arrive  at  a  comprehension  of 
what  has  been,  in  the  most  complete  and  general  sense,  the 
development  of  our  glorious  country.  In  the  past,  as  well  af 
in  the  future,  she  has  a  right  to  our  warmest  alTeclions 


THE     END. 


r  A  B  L  E 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  SOVEREIGNS 


i:\(5LAND,  SCOTLAND,   FRANCE,  GEUMANY     RUSSIA,  AND   SPAIN    ANI 
OF  THE  POPES. 

IFrom  Sir  Harris  Nicholas's  "  Chronology  of  History."] 


! 

■ 

1 

A.  D 

England. 

France. 

Germany. 

Papal 

States. 

Russia. 

Spain. 

Scotland. 

800 

Egbert. 

Charle- 
magne. 

Charle- 
magne. 

Leo  III. 

Achaius. 

814 

, 

Lotus  I. 

Louis  I. 

816 

Stephen  V. 

817 

Paschal  I. 

8iy 

•    . 

Congalo  in. 

6-20 

_ 

Eugene  H. 

621 

Valentine. 

Dougal. 

a2- 

Gregor)-  IV. 

831 

Alpin. 

S34 

^     , 

, 

Kenneth  IL 

635 

Ethclwolf. 

643 

•     • 

Chnrlcsh 
Chaavts. 

Lonia  II. 

Sergiai  II. 

'    847 

_ 

L«o  IV. 

Rurick 

854 

Donali  V 

855 

:  :  1   :  : 

Bcnjjiot  ML 

857 

Ethelbald. 

858 

Nicolas  I. 

Oarcial. 

CoDstan- 

800 

Eth'elbirt. 

.  [tine  11 

806 

Ethelred  1. 

80S 

Adrian  11. 

872 

Alfred  th  a 

[Great. 

! 

'  673 

John  VIIL 

874 

,     , 

Ethua. 

976 

C'arlomau. 

,     , 

.     . 

.      . 

Gregory 

1    

Louio  HI. 

-- 

•     • 

Charles  lo 
Gros. 

877 

,     , 

Louis  II. 

679 

,     ^ 

Louis  111. 

Carlornan. 

, 

Oleg 

880 

,     .      'Fortunio 

883 

_ 

Martin  I. 

1                i 

881 

^ 

Charles  le 

Adrian  111. 

1 

Gros 

8fi5 

Stephen  VI. 

•  6S7 

.     . 

Atmild.' 

1 

20 


JOB 


TABLE   OF  CONTEMPORARV   SOVEBEKiNS 


A.  D. 

England. 

France 
Huph 

Gkemant 

Statks. 

Russia 

S°ain. 

SCOTI.AKII 

1 

688 

•              1 

891 

FormoauR 

1 

692 

, 

.      Donald  Vi    1 

897 

Stephen  V 1 1 

1  898 

Charlei  le 
Simple 

1 

899 

(the"  Elder. 

Louie  IV. 

900 

lidward 

Rom.  Formo- 
«us. 

1 

— 

John  IX. 

901 

.     .     'ConetantiI^' 

902 

Beuedict  IV. 

Sancbol. 

ffTIl 

906 

Leo  V. 

1 

— 

Chnstopher. 

907 

Sergius  III. 

910 

AuBstasius. 

911 

, 

Conrad  L 

912 

Lando. 

— 

John  X. 

913 

Igor  I 

919 

Ileorj  I. 

922 

Robert. 

923 

Ralph. 

925 

AlheUtun. 

926 

Garcia 

928 

Leo  VI.' 

[U. 

929 

StephenVin. 

931 

John  XI. 

936 

Louis  I'v. 

Otho  the 
Gieat. 

Leo  VII. 

938 

* 

Malcoloi  1. 

940 

,     . 

Stephen  IX. 

941 

Edmund. 

943 

Martin  11. 

[slaw  I. 

945 

, 

, 

Swiato- 

946 

Edred. 

, 

Agapet  II. 

954 

Lothajre 

955 

EJwy. ' 

956 

,     , 

, 

John  XII 

. 

958 

Indudphus. 

959 

Edgar. 

965 

Benedict  V 

1  966 

, 

,     , 

,      , 

John  XIII 

1  968 

^     ^ 

, 

Duffiii. 

970 

.     .      . 

.     . 

.     . 

Sancho 
CJ. 

972 

CuUenus. 

973 

Otho  II' 

Donmua  II. 

Jaropolk 

KennttL.''! 

— 

Benedict  VI. 

[I. 

974 

, 

Benedict  VII. 

[  975 

Edw'd  the 
Martyr. 

978 

Etlelredll 

980 

•     • 

•     • 

Waldi- 
mirl.the 

983 

,     ^ 

Otho  IIL 

Great 

1 

084 

^ 

John  XIV. 

985 

,     , 

John  XV. 

1 

986 

Louii  V. 

, 

Jelin  XVI 

' 

987 

Hugh  Ca- 
pet. 

(III. 

9«4 

Garcia 

(^onktaniino; 

99« 

, 

Gregory  V 

[IV  1 

997 

.      . 

Rcbeit. 

.     .      1 

Gnniui        ^ 

TABLE   OF  CONTEMPORARY  S0VEHEIG^6. 


3oy 


A    D. 

EnaLAND. 

France. 

Germany. 

Papal 

States. 

Russia 

Spain. 

SCOTLANL 

909 

.      ,        Silvester  II. 

lUOU 

•     • 

■ 

' 

Sanrho 
111.  the 
Great. 

lOOT  • 

Ilenrr  II. 

1003  1 

John  xvir. 
and  XVIII. 

1004  1        .     . 

Malcolm  11. 

1009  '        .     . 

Sergiug  IV. 

1012 

.     • 

BenedictVIII 

[polk  1 

1015 

, 

Swiato- 

;oi6 

Eilnnind 
Iriinsido. 

1017 

Canute. 

[slaw  I. 

1018 

Jaro- 

11121 

Ccnrad  11 

John' XIX. 

1031 

Henry  1 

1033 

• 

nenedict  IX. 

Ferdi- 
nand I. 
inCastile 

IU31 

Dancan 

1035 

Garcia 
IV.  in 

Navarre. 

' 

Ramirez 

I.  in 
Aragon. 

• 

I»3G 

Harold. 

1039 

Ilardica- 
nute. 

Herurj  III 

1040 

_ 

^ 

, 

Macbeth 

1041 

EJwar<i 
the  Con- 
fps3or. 

1014 

,     . 

Gregory  VI. 

1017 

, 

Clement  II. 

1018 

. 

Damaiius  11. 

1010 

, 

Leo  IX. 

tl 

1051 

Isasltw 

1054 

•     • 

•     • 

Sancho 
IV. 
Navarre 

1055 

. 

Victor  II. 

1 

1056 

, 

Henry  IV. 

1 

1057 

.     , 

. 

Stephen  X 

Ma.coualll 

1058 

. 

Nicolas  II. 

1060 

Philip  I 

1 

1061 

, 

,     , 

. 

Alexander  II 

, 

1063 

•     • 

•     • 

•      • 

Sancbol 
Aragon 
Sane no 

1093 

Harotd  U. 

, 

,     , 

, 

, 

l.Cailile. 



William  1 

1C7> 

•     • 

• 

• 

Alphon- 
so  I. 
Castile. 

1073 

•     • 

Gregory  VII. 

Swato- 
•law  II. 

i(n«       .    . 

1 

•     • 

[led  I. 

Sancho 
V.  Nov. 
<5-  Ar 

■!o:s       .    . 

Wsewo- 

1085          .     . 

, 

Victor  lil 

,1087  iWilliarall. 

. 

Urban  U. 

[poIsklL 

,1093  1       .     .              .     .      1 

.      .                .      .          ISwato- 

DonalJ  VI 

no 


TABLE  OF  CONTEMPORARV   80VEHEI0NB 


A  D 

1094 

England. 

Fbance 

Germany. 

Papal 
States. 

Russia. 

Spain. 

Scotland. 

i 

. 

Peter  I. 

Duncan.  II 

Nav.  (^ 

Ar. 

1090 

^ 

. 

^     , 

Edga/ 

1099 

, 

Paschal  11 

1100 

Ilenrj   I. 

1104 

Alphon- 

so  1  .Yav. 

^Ar. 

1106 

Henry  V. 

1107 

. 

Alexankrl 

1108 

Louis  VI. 

1109 

Urraca, 
Ca. 

1113 

Wa.di- 

1118 

.      . 

. 

lelas'll.' 

[mir  II. 

1119 

_ 

, 

Caliituj  II. 

1124 

, 

DA\ii.  i 

1125 

Lothairell. 

Honorius  II. 

Mistis- 
[law. 

1126 

•     • 

Alphon. 
11.  Cas- 

1130 

Innocent  II. 

tile. 

1132 

Jaronolk 
[II. 

1133* 

•     • 

Garcia 
V.  N. 

1134 

•     • 

Ramirez 
11.  Ara- 
gon. 

1 

1135 

Steph'^n. 

1137 

Louis  VII. 

I'etronil- 
laiRay- 
iiioiido, 
Aragon. 

1138 

Conrad  III. 

Wsewo- 

1143 

,      ^ 

,     , 

Celestine  11. 

[1(.<I  II. 

1144 

, 

Lucius  II. 

1145 

. 

Eugene  III. 

1146 

•     • 

•     • 

I.saslaw 
III. 

1149 

" 

•     • 

Jurje  I. 
[D. 

1I5< 

[I. 

• 

Sancho 
VI.  the 
Wise.iV. 

1152 

Frederick 

1153 

M'.cola  rV 

1154    Henry  U 

AiiastasiuB 
[IV. 

1155  1       .     . 

,     , 

Adrian  IV. 

1157  1       .     . 

Andrej 

Sancho 
II.  Cas- 
tile. 

' 

1158          .      . 

•     • 

[Ill 

Alphon. 
III. 
Castile. 

115G  '.       .     . 

,     , 

Alexander 

{163  1       .     . 

Alnhon- 
■oll. 
Aragon. 

1165  ; 

, 

Willia.n  I, 

1175  1       .     . 

Michel  I. 

1177 
1180 

...-'•      • 

Phiiip  ii. 

Wsewo- 

j_iodni. 

1 

TABLE   OF  CONTEMPORARY  SOVEREIGNS. 


811 


1    " 

1                   1                  ^ 

\.  u 

n.siii.ANn 

FllAM.K. 

Gkbmanv 

Papal 

Russia 

Spain    IScctl/jid. 

1   _ 

States. 

. 

1ISI 

Lucius  III. 

1165 

Urban  IH. 

1187 

GregoryVIlI 

II1H8 

Clement  111. 

1189 

Richard  1 

1190 

Henry  VI. 

1191 

. 

CelestinoIII 

1194 

•     • 

•     • 

Sancho 

vn. 

i   Navarre 

IllfW 

_ 

Peter  II 

I119S 

1 

Philip 
Otho  IV. 

Innocent  111 

Aragon. 

.1199 

John 

1212 

FreJerinll. 

1213 

, 

Jurje  II 

Jns.  I.  i4r 

1211 

. 

Henry  I. 

AJei.  n. 

1210 

ller'iy  III. 

Castile. 

1217 

Honorius  III 

Constan- 

Ferd.Ill. 

1223 

Louis 
tVIII 

tine. 

Castile. 

1226 

iSt.  Louis 

[IX. 

1227 

Gregory  IX. 

1234 

,     , 

Theobald 

1238 

Jaroslaw 

I.  Nav. 

12il 

Cclestine  IV. 

[11. 

1213 

Innocent  IV. 

1245 

Alexan- 
der 

Alex    IH 

1219 

. 

New- 

1250 

Con^'lV. 

skoi. 

iC. 

1252 

Alph.  IV. 

1253 

Theobald 

1254 

Wiliiar^  of 
Holland 

Alexander 
IV. 

11.  Nav. 

1257 

Richard,E. 
of  Corn- 

wall 

1262          .     . 

Urban  IX. 

Jaroslaw 

1261 

Gregory  X. 

[III. 

12G5 

Clement  IV 

I2T0 

Phi.ipIII. 

VVasllej 

Hen.  1. 

1272 

Edward  1 

tl. 

Navarre. 

i 

1273 

Rodolph  of 

Hapabui'^. 

1274 

Joanna  I. 

1275 

Dimitrej 

Navarre. 

1270 

imocent  V 

Peter  IH. 

— 

•     • 

Adrian  V. 
John  XX. 

Aragon. 

1277 

. 

Nicolas  III 

1281 

,     , 

.      . 

Martin  IV. 

Andrej. 

1284 

•     • 

Sancho 
IV.   Cas. 

1285 

•     • 

PhQipIV 

lonoriui  IV. 

Alphonso 
HI.  ylr. 

1286 

,     . 

rforgnnt 

1288 

;  ! 

N'icoias'lV. 

lohn  B&hul 

1291 

fames  11. 

1292 

Adolphus 

Aragon. 

of  Nassau.  1 

1294 

.     .       1        .      .       1 

"t  estine  V. 

Danillo. 

[Castile. 

1295 

__•-  1    1 

.      .       1 

!o  ifaceVIIl 

.      . 

F.ird.  IV 

SI2 


Table  of  contemporabv  sovereigns. 


A.D 

England. 

France. 

Germany. 

Papal 

States 

Russia. 

Spain. 

SCOTLANIJ 

1296 

. 

Interreg- 

1298 

Albert  of 
Austria. 

[num 

1303 

Benedict  X. 

[low. 

1305 

Clement  V. 

Michai- 

1306 

,     , 

,     , 

Robert  I, 

1307 

Fdward  11 

1308 

Henry  VII. 

;312 

,     , 

Alnhonso 
V.  Cast. 

1314 

Luuia  X. 

Louis  IV 

K.  of  Na- 

varre. 

1316 

John  1. 

1316 

I'hilip  V. 

.     .      John  XXL 

1317 

.     .      1         .     . 

Jurjelll. 

1322 

Chas.'lV 

1327 

Edwanl 

[111. 

Aleiander  II. 

•     • 

Alphonsn 
IV,  >lr. 

1328 

,      . 

Philip  VI. 

, 

, 

Iwan  1. 

Jiianna  11 

' 

of  Mos- 

Navarre. 

cow. 

1329 

,     , 

Uavid  11. 

1334 

Benedict  XL 

[E.lw.  Ila- 

1336 

^      ^ 

Peter  11. 

lidl  usurped 
III  i:(32,  but 

Aragon. 

1340 

• 

Semen. 

wii.s  deposed 
III  ths  sair  \ 
yeur.] 

1342 

, 

Clement  VI. 

1346 

, 

Charles  IV 

iNav. 

1349 

, 

Charles  II 

1350 

John  II. 

Peter  I. 
Castile. 

1353 

,          , 

Innocent  Vl. 

Iwan  II. 

1359 

•           • 

•     • 

Diniitrej 
11. 

1363 

Urban  V. 

Diniitrej 

1364 

Cha»/V. 

III. 

[Castile. 

1369 

Henry  II. 

1371 

, 

. 

Gregory  XL 

Robert  n. 

1377 

Richard  II. 

[laaa. 

1378 

, 

Wences- 

Urban  VI. 

[Caslile. 

1379 

,     , 

.     , 

' 

,           , 

John  1 

13S0 

Chas.  VI. 

[Nav. 

1366 

•     • 

,     ^ 

,           , 

Chas.  III. 

1367 

,      , 

,      , 

,     , 

John  1. 

1369 

•     • 

•     • 

•     • 

W'aailej 
H. 

Aragon. 
[Cast. 

1390 

,     , 

Boniface  IX 

llei.rylll. 

Robert  111 

1395 

, 

, 

Martin, 

1399 

Ibii'ry  iv. 

Aragon 

1400 

Robert. 

1404 

Innocent  VII. 

1406 

•     • 

• 

Gregory  XIL 

•     • 

John  11. 
Caslile 

James  1. 

:409 

,  , 

Alexander  V. 

1410 

,  _ 

John  XXII. 

1411 

SigitDiond. 

1419 

, 

.     . 

,     , 

jFerd.  1. 

« 

1413 

Henry  V 

Aragon. 

'416 

•     • 

•      • 

Aluhonso 
/  Ar. 

1117 

Martin  V. 

1422 

Henry  V 

Cha.  VII. 

1 

TABLE   OF  CON'/EMPORARy  SOVEREIGNS. 


313 


.    D. 

EnOLlND. 

France. 

GEBMA!<7. 

PkFKL 

States. 

Russia. 

Spain 

SCOTLAKU. 

.425 

•     • 

•     • 

Wasilej 
111. 

Blanche, 
Nav.   * 

M31 

, 

Eugene  IV 

John    1 

1437 

AUwrt  il 

jlr 

JiUDUcII. 

1440 

Fred.  Ill 

1447 

,     , 

Nicolas  V 

MS4 

] 

Henry  IV, 

1455 

Calixtai  III. 

Caitilt. 

1438 

Pin.  II. 

1450 

JlUDM  111 

.461 

E.l«    I'v 

Louii  XI. 

1402 

Iwan 

Wasiiej 

1461 

Panl  II. 

I. 

1471 

SlXtM  IV. 

1474 

•     • 

Ferd.   11 
ibUahnlla 
of  Castile. 

1479 

Ford.  II., 
the  Cath- 
olic,  A 
Elpanor, 

Francn 
PhoEbus, 

N. 

1483 

Edward  V, 
Rich.  Ill 

Charlei 

vin. 

•     • 

•     • 

Catherine 
Nav 

1484 

Innocent  VIII 

1485 

Henry  VII. 

1488 

, 

,     , 

Junes  rV 

1492 

Aleisnd.  VI. 

1493 

Maii- 
miliac  I. 

1498 

I.ouisXlI. 

1503 

Pin*  ni. 
Julius  II. 

1505 

_ 

Wasilflj 

1509 

Up.;,  v'ih: 

IV. 

1513 

_ 

^ 

LeoX. 

. 

, 

Jam«*  7 

1515 

Francii  I. 

1516 

,     , 

Charles  I. 

1519 

Charles  V. 

Emperor 
Chag.  V 

1522 

,          , 

Adrian  VI. 

1523 

^ 

Clemert  VH 

1533 

Iwao 
Waaile- 

1534 

Paul  HI. 

jevitch. 

1512 

, 

M»ry 

1547 

E'lw.  VI 

Henry  11. 

1550 

Julius  III. 

1553 

.Mar^.   ' 

tn. 

1555 

.     . 

Marcellinus 

1556 

.      .        Paul  IV. 

, 

Philip  n 

1558 

EiM.^elh 

Ferd.  1. 

1S59 

Francis  1,' 

Pius  .V. 

'I5fi0 

Chas.  IX. 

|je«4 

^faxl- 

milian  II. 

1 

■]t<x 

,          , 

' 

Pius  V. 

1 

1&67 

, 

Jtumm  VI. 

1572 

Gregory  XIII. 

1574 

HenrjTM. 

1 

I57n 

RodrOph  11. 

1 

314 


TABLE   OF  CONTEMPORARY  SOVEREIGNS. 


k.  D 

Enoland. 

France 

Germany. 

Papal 

States 

Russia. 

Spain. 

SCOTUAHD.' 
1 

1584 

.     . 

Feodore 

1585 

Siitus  V 

I. 

IS89 

Hear.  IV. 

,     , 

1590 

•     • 

Urban  VII. 
GrcgorjXlV. 

1591 

. 

Innocent  IX. 

1592 

Clement  VI'I 

1598 

Git  EAT 
BRITAIN. 

'     • 

Boris 
Godu- 
now. 

Phl'iplM 

1603 

James  1. 

^tociuJo.1 

1C05 

, 

, 

, 

Leo  XI  ' 

tht>   thr.Mie 

Paul  V.          1 

of  Eiu^  aiid 

1606 

•      • 

■(XIII. 

.      .           Wasilfj 
SchuiB- 

Maich, 
'603. 

1610 

. 

Liiuis 

kui 

1612 

Matthias. 

1613 

.      .           <lichuel 

Fodro- 

»n(8>'h 

1619 

,     , 

,     , 

Ferd.  II. 

1621 
1633 

Gregory  XV. 
Urban  VIII. 

Philip  |\ 

1625 

Cliarles  1. 

1637 

Ferd.  Ill 

1643 

Lou.  XIV. 

1644 

luDoceot  X. 

1645 

•     • 

•     • 

Alexej 
Mic. 

1655 

,         , 

.41exand.  Vll. 

1658 

Leopold  1. 

1660 

C'l&rles  11. 

. 

1665 

. 

C  VI.  «• 

1667 

Clement  IX. 

1670 

^          , 

Clement  X. 

III. 

1676 

Innorent  XI. 

Feodore 

1682 

•     • 

Iwaii 
Alex. 

1685 

James  II. 

•     • 

•     • 

Peterthe 
Great. 

1689 

Mary  i 
WilliainllL 

.VleiandVIII 

1691 

,     , 

luEocentXII. 

1694 

Win.  lil. 

1700 

_ 

Clement  XI. 

, 

Philif  V 

1702 

Anno. 

1705 

Joseph  I. 

1711 

CharleaVI. 

1714 

George  1 

1715 

LouisXV. 

1721 

Innoc.  XIII. 

1724 

Uened.  XIII. 

trine  1 

1725 

, 

,     , 

Cathe- 

1727 

Oeorge  11 

,     , 

Peter  II 

1730 

Clement  XII. 

Anne. 

1740 

, 

Bened.  XIV. 

Iwan  III 

1741 

Eliza- 

1743 

,     , 

ChaV  Vll. 

beth. 

1745 

• 

Francis  I. 
&,    Maha 
Teresa. 

rsi 

, 

Feiui- 

1758           .     . 

:iem"entXm 

nand  VI. 

11759  1        .      . 

.      ■ 

t'liarles 

11700  'Grort'fi  III 

1 

III 

TABLE  OF    CONTEMPORARY   SOVEREl    N3. 


815 


A.  D 

Oreat 

France 

Grrmanv. 

•Papal 

Russia. 

Spais. 

8co:&Aiii> 

BniTAIN 

States 

1762 

.     . 

Peter  III 

1765 

. 

Joseph  11. 

Cathe- 

17fi9 

Clfimrnt 

rine  II. 

1774 

. 

Lou.  XVI. 

XIV. 

il775 

Pius  VI 

11768 

t^as.IV. 

il790 

Leopold  11. 

11792 

Republic. 

FrnnciB 
11." 

179fi 

PauJl. 

1600 

Pius"''  i. 

1801 
1 

•      • 

•     • 

Aleian- 
der. 

1804 

■     • 

Napf-leJD 
Ein|>e/'or 

1 

AURTRIA 

1806 

Francis  1 

? 

,1808 

•     • 

•      • 

•     • 

Ferd.  VII. 
J.  Napo- 

aa 

I8II 

Regrnry 

leon 

« 

1814 

Liiuis 
XVlll 

•     • 

•     • 

Ferd.  VII. 

4 
S 

1820  'Oeorge  IV, 

- 

1823           .      . 

LmXII 

1824 

i:h«fl  x. 

1825 

, 

,     . 

,     , 

Nicolas  t 

1828 

1829 

[IV 

[Philip. 

1830 

Will.ain 

Lojit 

1831 

. 

Orefory 

1832 

XVI 

1833 

IsabeUa. 

1834 

1835 

Fcrdm.  1. 

1836 

1837 

Victoria 

*  IJoon  the  establishment  orthe  confederation  of  the  Bliine,  in  1806,  Krincis  wascil 
id  be  Emperor  of  Germany  and  became  hereditary  Emperor  of  Austria  under  the  title 
)f  Francis 


310 


TABLE   OF  CO.NTEMPOBARy  SOVEBEIQNb 


THE  LESSER  EUROPEAN  STATES.  FROM   Iti9i«  TO  1838. 


&.  D 

Denmark. 

Naples. 

Poland    JPoiitugal. 

1  1'bussia 

Sardinia. 

SWKDBK. 

Clinsliaii 

.     . 

Augustus 

Peter  11 

Frederic 

Cbae  KM. 

V 

U. 

Wilhaoi 

1699 

Frcdcj  IV 

1701 

, 

Frederic  i 

1704 

•     ■ 

•     • 

StanislauH 
(Leciiu- 

sky.) 

1 

170h 

. 

,     , 

John  V. 

1709 

Augiu.  II. 

(Wm.  1. 

1713 

Chua  'n. 

,     , 

, 

Frederic 

(ajiom. 

1719 

. 

. 

. 

,     , 

Ulrica  Elo-! 

1720 

[VI 

•      • 

"     • 

Victoi  Am- 
adeus  II 

Frederic. 

1730 

Chnatiou 

,     , 

_ 

Charlos 

,1733 

, 

,     , 

AuKiiHtua 
III 

Euiuu.  HI. 

1735 

, 

Chiu.  HI 

1740 

•     • 

•      • 

Fred    II 
the  Great. 

1746 

FredoncV. 

1 

1750 

•     • 

>     •      1     Joseph 
i  Eiiiamiel. 

1758 

,     , 

.     .      1 

, 

,      ^ 

Adolphus 

1759 

, 

Feid.  IV 

1 

Frcdepc 

1764 

•     • 

.     •       'Stanislaus  1 
(Peniatow-' 

1766 

Chna   vn. 

.     .          sK.y.)          ' 

1771 

. 

Gustiivus 

i772 

.     .        lat  Parli- 

.      .        1        .      . 

III. 

1  tion. 

.1773 

»       1       •     • 

Vicioj  Am 

1777 

.     , 

.     . 

,     , 

Maria. 

{Wnl  II. 

111. 

1766 

.     . 

. 

, 

Frederic 

1792 

,     , 

,     , 

,     , 

. 

, 

GuBtaruii 

|1793 

, 

,     , 

3d  Purt'n. 

IV.Adol. 

!l795 

,     . 

,     , 

SdPttft'a. 

1796 

•     • 

•     • 

•     • 

•     • 

Churlea 
Eman  |V. 

I7S7 

•     • 

•     • 

.     . 

.     . 

Fied. W 

in 

I7M 

. 

JUm  VI 

1802 

, 

,     , 

.     .        Victor 

1809 

PrwiorVI 

Jut.  Ntt- 

poluon 

Bninu. 

1809 

,     , 

,     , 

Chiu.XIII 

1615 

•     • 

Jowiliira 
Mural 

AlirxuiiJer. 

.1816 

[nmid  I. 

•     • 

•     • 

•     • 

•     • 

CLailid 
JohiiXIV 

!l821 

,     , 

Fonli 

, 

Chariot 

1625 

,     , 

NU50JU>. 

Fehi. 

,1626 

, 

Fnacii 

Pedro  n 

1828 

•     • 

•     • 

•    • 

Maria  da 
Olurib 

1630 

,     . 

Peniu.  11, 

1831 

•     • 

•     • 

•     • 

Charlti. 
Amadoas. 

I83S 

1833 

1834 

1635 

18.16 

1 

lb37  1                    1 

I 

. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZA- 
TION FROM  THE  FALL  OF 
THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE  TO  THE 
FRENCH    REVOLUTION      ^      ^ 


BY 


FRANCOIS  PIERRE   GUILLAUME  GUIZOT 

FORMERLY    PROFESSOR    OF    HISTORY     IN     THE    FACULTY    OF    LITERATURE 
AT    PARIS,    AND    MINISTER    OF    PUBLIC    INSTRUCTION 


VOLUME     II 


NEW    YORK 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1897 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  following  Lectures  were  delivered  by  M.  Ouizol 
:n  the  years  1828,  1829,  and  1830,  at  the  Old  Sorb^nne 
now  tiie  seat  of  the  Faculte  des  Lettres,  of  Paris,  on  ah 
ternale  days  with  MM.  Cousin  and  Villemain,  a  triad  of 
lecturers  whose  brilliant  exhibitions,  the  crowds  which 
thronged  their  lecture-rooms,  and  the  stir  they  excited  in 
the  active  and  aspiring  minds  so  numerous  among  the 
French  youth,  the  future  historian  will  commemorate  as 
among    the    remarkable    appearances    of  that    important 

I  era. 

The  first  portion  of  these  Lectures,  thos6  comprising 
the  Ge?ieral  History  of  Civilization  in  Europe,  have  al- 
ready appeared.  The  Lectures  on  the  History  of  Civili- 
zation in  France,  are  now  for  the  first  time  translated. 
Of  these  Lectures,  it  is  most  justly  observed  by  the 
Edinburgh  Revteiv :  "  There  is  a  consistency,  a  cohe- 
rence, a  comprehensiveness,  and  what  the  Germans 
ivould  term  many-sidedness,  in  the  manner  of  M  Gui 
tot's  fulfilment  of  his  task,  that  manifests  him  one  to 
■Ahoin  the  whole  subject  is  tamiUar     ttiat  exhibits  a  full 


VI  ADVERTISEMENT 

po3session  of  the  facts  wliich  have  any  important  bearing 
upon  iiis  conchisions  ;  and  a  dcHberaleness,  amatureness 
an  entire  absence  of  haste  or  crudity,  in  his  explanations 
of  historical  phenomena,  which  give  evidence  of  a  general 
scheme  so  well  wrought  out  and  digested  befoiehand, 
that  the  labors  of  resea'ch  and  of  thought  necessaiy  foi 
the  whole  work,  seem  to  have  been  performed  before  any 
part  was  comnu'tled  to  paper." 


CONTENTS 


FIRST  LECTURE. 

Oljjt'Ot  cf  tlie  course — Two  methods  of  studying  in  detail  the  historj'  ut 
European  civilization — Reasons  for  preferring  the  study  of  the  historj' 
of  the  civilization  of  a  particular  country — Reasons  for  studying  tliat 
of  France — Of  the  essential  facts  which  constitute  the  perfection  ol 
civilization — Comparison  of  the  great  European  nations  inider  this 
point  of  view— Of  civilization  in  England — Germany — Italy — Spain 
— France — French  civilization  is  the  most  complete,  and  offers  the 
most  faithful  representation  of  civilization  in  general — That  the  stu- 
dent has  other  things  to  bear  in  mind  besides  the  mere  study — Of  the 
present  prevailing  tendencies  in  the  intellectual  order — Of  the  prevail- 
ing tendencies  in  the  social  order — Two  problems  resulting  therefrom 
— Their  apparent  contradiction — Our  times  are  called  upon  to  solve 
*l,em — A  third  and  purely  moral  problem,  rendered  equally  important 
by  the  present  state  of  civilization — The  unjust  reproaches  of  which 
it  is  the  object — The  necessity  of  meeting  them — All  science,  in  the 
present  day,  exerts  a  social  influence — All  power  should  tend  to  the 
moral  perfection  of  the  individual,  as  well  as  to  the  improvement  o( 
society  in  general P-  9 


SECOND  LECTURE. 

Necessity  of  reading  a  general  history  of  France,  before  we  study  that  of 
civilizatiim — M.  de  Sismondi's  work — Why  we  should  study  the  politi- 
cal stata  of  a  country  before  its  moral  state,  the  history  of  society 
before  that  of  man — The  social  state  of  Gaul  in  the  fifth  century  — 
Original  monuments  h.;d.  modern  works  descriptive  of  that  subject--- 
Differonce  between  the  civil  and  religious  society  of  that  period — Im- 
perial government  of  Gaul — The  provincial  governors — Their  official 
establishments — Their  salaries — Benefits  and  defects  of  the  adminis- 
tration— Fall  of  the  Roman  empire — Gaulish  society  :  1.  The  senatois  5 
2.  The  ciiriales ;  3.  The  people  ;  4.  The  slaves — Public  relations  of 
these  various  classes — Decline  and  helplessness  of  Gaulisli  civil  socie- 
ty— Causes  of  this — The  people  attach  themselves  to  the  religiouf 
noniainnity  P-  ^•^ 


CON  TENTS. 


THIRD  LECTURE. 


r  hject  of  the  lecture — Variety  of  the  principles  and  forms  of  religious  so- 
ciety in  Europe — Classification  of  the  different  systems,  1.  According 
to  (lie  relations  of  the  church  in  the  state  ;  2.  According  to  the  inter- 
nal constitution  of  the  c'uirch — All  these  systems  assign  their  origic 
to  the  primitive  church  —Critical  examination  of  these  pretensions - 
They  have  all  a  certain  degree  of  foundation — Fluctuation  and  com- 
plexity  of  ihe  exiernal  situation  and  internal  position  of  Christian 
society  from  the  first  to  the  fifth  century — Predominant  tendencies — 
Prevalent  facts  of  the  fifth  century — Causes  of  liberty  in  the  church  at 
this  period — The  election  of  bishops — Councils — Comparison  of  reli- 
gious with  civil  society — Of  the  chiefs  of  these  twq^ societies — Letters 
of  Sidonius  ApoUinaris    .  ....  ....  .     p.  55 


FOURTH  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — What  must  be  understood  by  the  nigral  state  of  a 
society — Reciprocal  influence  of  the  social  state  upon  the  moral  state, 
and  of  the  moral  state  upon  the  social  state — At  the  fourth  century, 
civil  Gaulish  society  alone  possessed  institutions  favorable  to  intel- 
lectual development — Caulish  schools — I.(^gal  situation  of  the  profes- 
sors— Religious  society  has  no  other  mediums  of  development  and 
influence  than  its  ideas — Still  one  languishes  and  the  other  prospers — 
Decline  of  the  civil  schools — Activity  of  the  Christian  society — Saint 
Jerome,  Saint  Augustin,  and  Saint  Paulin  of  Nola — Their  correspond- 
ence with  Gaul — Foundation  and  character  of  monasteries  in  Gaul — 
Causes  of  the  difference  of  the  moral  state  of  the  two  societies — Com- 
parative view  of  the  civil  literature  and  the  Christian  literature  in  the 
fourth  and  fifth  centuries — Inequality  of  the  liberty  of  mind  in  the 
two  societies — Necessity  for  religion  lending  its  aid  to  studies  and 
letters p.  84 


FIFTH  LECTURE. 

Of  the  principal  questions  debated  iif  Gaul  in  the  fifth  century — Of  Peia- 
gianism — Of  the  method  to  follow  in  its  history — Of  the  moral  facts 
which  gave  place  to  this  controversy:  1st,  of  human  liberty;  2d,  of 
the  impotency  of  liberty,  and  toe  necessity  for  un  external  sucror  ; 
3d,  of  the  influence  of  external  circumstances  upon  liberty;  4tli,  of 
the  moral  changes  which  happen  in  the  soul,  without  man  attributing 
them  to  his  will — Of  the  questions  which  naturally  arose  from  Ihewe 
facts — Of  the  sjjecial  point  of  view  uiuler  which  we  should  considej 
them  in  the  Christian  church  in  the  fifth  century — History  of  Pelagian- 
ism  at  Rome,  in  Africa,  in  the  East,  and  in  Gaul — Pelaguis — Celesiiua 
— Saint  Augustin — History  of  scmi-Pelagiauism — Cassieims — Fuuslua 
— Saint  Prosper  of  Aquitaiue — Of  predestination — Influence  anil  gen- 
i-Tul  results  of  this  controversy p.  104 


SIXTH   LECTURE. 

^')ject  of  tlifi  lecture — Ooncral  cliaractcr  of  the  lilcrnturo  of  tlio  middle 
nrres — Of  tlic  transition  from  pagan  philosophy  to  Christian  thc-ology — 
0(  the  qiiostinn  of  the  nature  of  the  soul  in  the  Christian  clunch — The 
nncietit  piiests  for  the  most  part  pronounced  in  favor  of  the  system  of 
materialism — Efforts  to  escape  from  it — Analogous  march  of  ideas  in 
pagan  philosophy — Commencement  of  the  system  of  spirituality — 
Siint  A  ugustin,  Ncmesius,  Mamertins  Claudienus — Faustus,  bishop  of 
Kiez — His  arguments  for  the  materiality  of  the  soul — Man)ertins  Claii- 
<licnus  answers  him — Importance  of  MamcrtiusClaudienus  in  Gaul — 
Analysis  of,  and  quotations  from  his  treatise  on  the  nature  of  the  soul 
— The  dialogue  of  Evagrius  hotwccn  Zachetis  the  Chiistian  and  Apol- 
lonius  the  pliilosopher — Of  the  effects  of  the  invasion  of  the  barba- 
rians upon  the  moral  state  of  Gaul p.  13(^ 

SEVENTH    LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Of  the  Germanic  element  in  modern  civilization — 
Of  the  monuments  of  the  ancient  social  state  of  the  Germans:  1.  Of 
the  Roman  and  Greek  historians;  2.  Of  the  barbaric  laws;  3.  Of  na- 
tional traditions — They  relate  to  very  dilFcrent  epochs — They  arc  often 
made  use  of  promiscuously — Error  which  residts  therefrom — The 
work  of  Tacitus  concerning  the  maimers  of  the  Germans — Opinions 
of  the  modern  Germnn  writers  concerning  the  ancient  Germanic 
state — What  kind  of  life  prevailed  there,  was  it  the  wandering  life, 
or  the  sedentary  life  ? — Of  the  institutions — Of  the  moral  state — 
Comparison  between  the  state  of  the  German  tribes  and  that  of  other 
hordes — Fallacy  of  most  of  the  views  of  barbarous  life — Principal 
Characteristics  of  the  true  influence  of  the  Germans  upon  modern  civi- 
lization   p.  148 

EIGHTH   LECTURE. 

Dbjectof  the  lecture — Description  of  the  state  of  Gaul  in  the  last  half  oi 
the  sixth  century — True  character  of  the  German  invasions — Cause 
of  errors  on  this  subject — Dissolution  of  Roman  society  :  1.  In  ruial 
districts;  2.  In  towns,  though  in  a  lesser  degree — Dissolution  of  Ger- 
man society  :  1.  Of  the  colony  or  tribe  ;  2.  Of  the  warfaring  band — 
Elements  f)f  the  new  social  state:  1.  Of  commencing  royalty;  2. 
Of  commencing  feudalism;  3.  Of  the  church  after  the  invasion — 
Summary p.   167 

NINTH  LECTURE. 

Obj?ct  of  the  lecture — False  idea  of  the  Salic  law — History  of  the  forma 
tion  of  this  law — Two  hypotheses  upon  this  matter — Eighteen  manu- 
scripts— Two   texts  of  the  Salic  law — M.  Wiarda's  work   upon   tlif- 

21 


CONTENTS. 

histoiv-  and  exposition  of  the  Salic  law — Prefaces  attached  to  \hc 
manuscripts — Value  ot  national  traditions  concerning  the  origin  and 
compilation  of  tJie  Salic  law — Concerning  ita  tendencies — It  is  esi^en- 
tially  a  pena]  code — 1st.  Of  the  enumeration  and  definition  of  offences 
in  lie  Salic  law ;  2±  Of  penalties ;  3d.  Of  criminal  procedure — 
Transitory  character  of  their  legislation    ...  .     .     .     .     p   IS-l 


TENTH  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Is  the  transitory  character  of  the  Salic  Ian  found 
in  the  laws  of  the  Ripuarians.  the  Barguudians,  and  the  Visi^ilis  ? — 
1st.  The  law  of  the  Ripuarians — The  Ripuariaii  Franks — History  oi 
the  compilation  of  their  law — Its  contents — Diifereuce  between  it  and 
ihie  Salic  law — Qd.  Tne  law  of  the  Burgundiaus — Hiiiory  of  iu  com- 
pilation— Its  comeuts — Its  distinctive  character — 3d.  Tne  law  oi  the 
Visigoths — It  concerns  the  histor)-  oi  Spain  more  than  that  of  France 
— Its  general  cbaractei' — Kffect  of  Roman  ciTiiizatioa  upon  the  bar- 
barians  .  .     .  p.  •2(t4 


ELE"\'EXTH   LECTURE. 

Perpetuity  of  the  Roman  law  after  lie  iJ\  c\  the  Empire — Oi  thi  History 
of  the  Rammm  late  in  t'.e  M-.JS.z  A^is.  by  M.  de  Saviguy — Merits  and 
deficiencies  of  this  work — 1.  Roman  law  among  the  Visigotlis — Bretia- 
rbam  Aniani^  collected  by  conmiand  of  Alaric — History  and  contents  of 
tbia  eotkctiou — i  Roman  law  among  the  Burgundiaus — Fapiani  Ri$- 
mnmrmm — Iltstor)-  aud  contents  of  liiis  law — 3.  Roman  law  among  the 
»amks — No  new  collection — The  perpetuity  of  Roman  law  proved  by 
I  &cts — Recapiiulati  i  ....  .     .     p.  22S 


TWELFTH  LECTURE. 

Ol^eet  of  the  lecture — State  of  the  churth  in  Gaul,  from  the  sixth  to  th« 
middle  of  the  eighth  ceniurj- — Analogy  between  the  primitive  state  of 
the  rehgioas  society  and  tl.e  ci\i]  so-j:ety — Tne  unity  of  the  cimrch  or 
the  Epirilual  society — Two  elen.ents  cr  coaJ.iious  of  spiritual  society  ; 
1st.  Unity  of  truth,  that  is  to  s^y,  of  at«s«:4iUe  r^dson  ;  '23.  Liberty  of 
■aiiMfe,  DC  individual  n?asoa — Si„te  oi  tiies*  two  vde^is  ia  the  Chnstiau 
cfanrcfa  from  the  siith  to  tiie  eigi;th  ceuturj- — She  adopts  one  and  rejects 
th«  other — Unity  of  the  chunrh  m  legid.jt.-oa — Genensl  councils — DiJe-- 
fuce  between  the  eastern  and  the  western  chunrh  as  re;ia.'vis  ti.e  perse- 
Tuiion  oi  heretics — Relations  of  the  church  with  the  state,  irum  the  siiib 
13  ihe  eighth  centur}- ;  1st,  in  the  eastern  empire  ;  2d,  ii  the  wesi,  es- 
pecially in  Frankisfa  GauJ — Interference  of  the  temporal  power  in  tit 
a&irs  of  the  church — Of  the  spiritual  power  iu  the  a&ire  3i  the  einu — 
Recapitulaiioo .     ...  ....  .  .     .     .     ^Ql'i 


CONTENTi;. 


THIRTEENTH  LECTURE. 

Ji  the  interna]  organiiatioo  and  state  of  the  Gallo-Frankish  church,  Iron 
the  i>i.ith  to  the  eigfhth  centur\- — Characteristic  facts  of  the  Gaulish 
church  at  the  fifth  centun.- — What  became  of  them  after  flie  iuvasion — 
The  exclusive  domination  of  the  cler^- in  the  religious  society  continues 
— Facts  which  modify  it :  1.  Separation  of  ordination  and  tenure  ;  priest? 
not  ecclesiasiics — 2.  Patronage  by  laymen  of  the  churches  which  they 
fouaded — 3.  Oratories,  or  particular  chaf>el8 — I.  Advocates  of  tho 
churches — Picture  of  the  general  organization  of  the  church — Parishes 
and  their  nricsts — Arclipriests  and  archdeacons — Bishops — Archbishops 
— Attempts  to  e-^tahlish  the  patriarchates  in  the  west — Fall  of  the  arch- 
bishops— Preponderance  and  despotism  of  the  episcopacy — Struggle  of 
the  presLs  and  parishes  against  the  bishopc — The  bishops  triumphant — 
Despotism  corrupts  'hem — Decline  of  the  secular  clergy — Necessity 
for  a  refonnation P  2.%'i 


FOURTEENTH  LECTl'RE. 

History  of  the  regular  clergy,  or  the  monks,  from  tne  sixth  to  the  eighth 
century — That  the  monks  were  at  first  laymen — Importance  of  this  ■ 
fact — Origin  and  prosressive  development  of  lY*  monastic  life  in  the 
cast—  First  rules — Importation  of  the  monks  into  the  west — They  are 
ill  received  there — Their  tirst  progress — Difference  between  eastern  and 
western  monasteries — Opinion  nf  St.  Jerome,  as  to  the  errors  of  the 
monastic  life — General  causes  of  its  extension — State  of  the  monks  in 
•  he  west  in  the  fifth  century — Their  power  and  their  want  of  coherence 
— Saint  Benedict — His  life — He  founds  the  mouasterj-  of  Monte  Cas- 
siuo — Analysis  and  estimate  of  his  rule — It  diffuses  itself  throughout 
lh«  w  'St,  and  becomes  predominant  in  almost  all  the  monasteries 
there p.  279 


FIFTEENTH  LECTURE. 

F'le  relations  of  the  monks  with  the  clerg}*,  from  the  fourth  to  the  eighth 
centurv — Their  primitive  independence — Causes  of  its  decline — 1.  In 
proportion  as  the  number  and  the  [wwerof  the  monks  were  augmented, 
the  bishops  extended  their  jurisdiction  over  them — Canons  of  the  coun- 
cils— 2.  The  mouks  demand  and  obtain  privileges — 3.  They  aspire  to 
enter  into  the  c'crgy — Differences  and  contests  among  the  monki 
themselves  upon  this  subject — The  bishops  at  first  repulse  their  preten- 
sions— They  give  way  to  them — In  entering  into  the  clerg}-  the  monks 
rise  their  independence — TjTanny  of  the  bishops  over  the  monasteries 
— Resi-stance  of  the  nionke — Charters  granted  by  the  bishops  to  some 
monasteries — The  monks  have  recourse  to  the  protection  of  the  kings, 
to  that  of  the  popes — Character  and  limits  of  the  intervention — Simi- 
larity between  the  stni^gle  of  the  monasteries  against  the  bishops,  and 
Ihal  of  tho  commons  against  the  feudal  lords      .  .  p.  30f 


CONTENTS. 


SIXTEENTH  LECTURE. 

Fnii.!  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century  all  profane  lilerulure  disappeartiil  j 
eacrnd  literature  olone  remained — This  is  evident  in  the  schools  anil 
writings  of  this  epoch — 1.  Of  iho  schools  in  (juuI  from  Iho  hIxIIi  lo  (hn 
eighth  century — Culhedrul  schools — l{urul  schools — Monijslic  schooli 
— What  they  taught  there — 2.  Of  the  writings  of  the  day — General 
character  of  literature — It  ceased  to  be  speculative,  and  to  seek  more 
especially  science  and  intellectual  enjoyments ;  it  became  practical  ; 
knowledge,  eloquence,  writings,  were  made  means  of  action — Infiuenct 
of  this  characteristic  upon  the  idea  formed  of  the  intellectual  state  at 
this  epoch — It  |)roduced  scarcely  any  works  ;  it  has  no  literatu'e,  prop- 
erly so  called  ;  still  minds  were  active — Its  literature  consists  in  ser- 
mons and  legends — Bishops  and  missionaries — 1st.  Of  Saint  Cesaire, 
bishop  of  Aries — Of  his  sermons — 2d.  Of  Saint  Columban,  missiona- 
ry, and  abbot  of  Lnxeuil — Character  of  sacred  eloquence  at  this 
epoch  p.  317 


SEVENTEENTH  LECTURE. 

I*teface  of  the  0/(/ )Vtir/rt///y  of  Walter  Scolt — Robert  Patterson — Prefaco 
of  the  Vie  de  Saint  Murcelliii,  bishop  of  Embrun,  written  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  sixth  century — Saint  Ceran,  bishop  if  Paris — 
Eagerness  of  the  Christians  of  these  times  to  collect  the  traditions  and 
monuments  of  the  life  of  the  saints  anil  martyrs — Statistics  of  this 
branch  of  sacred  literature — Collection  of  the  Bollandists — Cause  of  the 
number  and  popularity  of  legends — They  almost  alone  satisfy  at  this 
epoch — 1.  The  wauls  of  the  moral  nature  of  man  —  Exani])ics:  I.ifo 
of  Saint  Bavon,  of  Saint  VVandiegisihis,  of  Saint  Valery — 2.  'I'he 
wants  of  physical  nature — Examples:  [iife  of  Saint  Cermain  of  Paris, 
of  Saint  AVandregisilus,  of  Saint  Rusticnlus,  of  Saint  Snlpiciue  of 
Bourges — 3.  The  wants  of  the  imagination — Examples  :  Life  of  Saiut 
Seine,  of  Saint  Austregesilus — Literary  defects  and  merits  of  le- 
gend^i  p.  337 


EIGHTEENTH  LECTURE. 

3(  me  wrecks  of  profane  literature  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century — 
Of  their  true  character — 1st.  I'roso  writers — (Jregory  of  'lours — His 
life — f lis  Ecclesiastical  History  of  the  Ftaiiks — The  influence  of  th-j 
ancient  Latin  literature  unites  with  that  of  the  Christian  doctrines — 
Mixture  of  civil  and  religious  history — Frdddgaire — His  Chronicles — 
2d.  Poets — Saint  Avitus,  bishop  of  Vienne — Ilis  life — His  poems  on 
the  creation — Original  sin — The  condemnation  of  man — The  deluge 
— The  passage  of  the  Red  Sea — The  praise  of  virginity — Comparison 
of  the  three  first  with  the  Paradise  Lost  of  Milton — Fortunatus,  bishop 
of  Poictiers — Ilis  life — His  relations  with  Saint  Rac'egondc — His  poeiim 
■    — Their  character — First  origin  of  French  literature  p.  355 


CONTENTS. 


NINETEENTH  LECTURE. 

riio  causes  and  tlie  character  of  tlio  revolution  wliich  substituted  the  Car« 
[ovingiaue  for  the  Merovingians — Recapitulation  of  the  history  of  civi- 
iization  in  France  luider  the  Merovingian  kings — The  Frankisb  state 
in  its  rdalions  with  tiie  ncigliboring  nations— The  Frankisii  state  in  its 
internal  organization — The  arislocratica!  elenirnt  ()rcvai!cd  in  it,  lut 
without  entirety  or  regularity — The  state  of  the  Frankish  church — 
Episcopacy  prevails  in  it,  but  is  itself  thrown  into  decay — Two  new 
powers  arise — 1.  The  Austrasian  Franks — Mayors  of  the  palace — The 
family  of  the  Pcpins — 2.  I'lipacy — Circumstances  favorable  to  its  pro- 
gress— Causes  which  drew  and  united  the  Austrasian  Franks  to  the 
popes — The  conversion  of  the  Germans  beyond  the  Rhine — Relations 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  missio:iaries,  on  the  one  hand  with  the  popes,  on 
the  otiicr,  with  the  mayors  of  the  palace  of  Austrasia — Sairt  Jioniface 
— The  popes  have  need  of  the  Austrasian  Franks  ajjainst  the  Ijotr- 
bards — Pepin-le-Bref  has  need  of  the  pope  to  make  hi /u^elf  king- • 
Their  alliance,  and  the  new  direction  which  it  ii.ij/fiPjd  upon  civili- 
zation— Conclusion  of  the  first  part  of  the  course  p.  S?*' 


TWENTIETH  LECTURE. 

R?ign  of  Charlemagne — Greatness  of  his  name — Is  it  trie  that  he  settle(i 
nothing?  that  all  that  he  did  has  perished  with  iii'^n?— Of  the  action 
of  great  men — They  play  a  double  part — ^That  v-hich  they  do  in  virtue 
of  the  first,  is  durable;  that  which  they  atteirpt  uu'ier  the  second, 
passes  away  with  them — Example  of  Napolco'.i- —Necessity  of  beiny 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  history  of  events  under  Charlemagne, 
in  order  to  understand  that  of  civilization — How  the  events  may  be 
recapitulated  in  tables — L  Charlespague  as  a  warrior  and  conqueror: 
Table  of  his  principal  expeditious — Their  meaning  and  results — 
2.  Charlemagne  as  an  administrator  and  legislafoi — Of  the  government 
of  the  provinces — Of  the  central  government — Table  of  national  as- 
semblies under  his  reign — Table  of  his  capitularies — Table  of  the  acta 
and  documents  which  remain  of  this  epoch — 3.  Charlemagne  as  a  pro. 
lector  of  intellectual  development:  Table  <f  the  celebrated  contemix)- 
raiieous  men — Estimation  of  the  general  r  •suits,  and  of  the  charanter 
of  Ilia  reigii      ...  p.  3  H 


HISTORY 

OF 

CIVILIZATION     IN     FRANCE 

FROM  THE  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE. 


LECTURE  THE  FIRST. 

Object  of  the  course-Two  methods  of  studying  in  detail  the  history 
of  European  civilization-Reasons  for  preferring  the  study  of  the 
history  of  the  civilization  of  a  particular  country-Reasons  for 
studying  that  of  France-Of  the  essential  facts  which  constitute  the 
perfection  of  civilization-Comparison  of  the  great  European  nations 
under  this  point  of  view-Of  civilization  in  England-Germany- 
Italy-Spain-France-French  civilization  is  the  most  complete, 
and  offers  the  most  faithful  representation  of  civilization  m  general 
-That  the  student  has  other  things  to  bear  in  mind  besides  the 
mere  study -Of  the  present  prevailing  tendencies  in  the  intellec- 
tual order-Of  the  prevailing  tendencies  in  the  social  order- 1  wo 
problems  resulting  thercfrom-Their  apparent  contradiction— Uur 
times  are  called  upon  to  solve  them-A  third  and  purely  moral 
problem,  rendered  equally  important  by  the  present  state  of  civili- 
zation—The  unjust  reproaches  of  which  it  IS  the  object- 1  he  ne- 
cessity of  meeting  them— All  science,  in  the  present  day,  exerts  a 
social  influence-All  power  should  tend  to  the  moral  perfection  ot 
the  individual,  as  well  as  to  the  improvement  of  society  in  general 

Many  of  you  will  call  to  mind  the  nature  and  aim  of  a 
course  of  lectures  wliich  were  brought  to  a  close  some  months 
suice.  That  course  was  cursory  and  of  a  general  nature. 
I  then  attempted,  in  a  very  short  period  of  time,  to  place  bo- 
|i)re  you  an  historical  view  of  European  civilization.  1 
hastened,  as  it  were,  from  point  to  point,  confining  myself 
strictly  to  general  facts  and  assertions,  at  the  risk  of  being 
sometimes  misunderstood  and  perhaps  discredited. 

Necessity,  as  you  know,  imposed  this  metliod  upon  me  ; 
but  in  spite  of  this  necessity  I  should  have  been  much  pained 


10  HISTOIIY    OF 

by  the  inconveniences  which  arose  from  it,  had  I  not  foreseen 
tiiat  in  a  future  course  I  sliould  be  enabled  to  remedy  it;  and 
had  I  not  proposed  to  myself,  at  the  time,  to  complete,  at  soma 
future  period,  the  outline  which  I  then  traced,  and  of  leading 
you  to  the  general  results  which  I  placed  before  you,  by  the 
same  path  which  I  myself  had  followed,  an  attentive  and 
complete  study  of  the  facts.  Such  is  the  end  at  which  I  now 
aim. 

Two  methods  offer  themselves  as  tending  to  the  attainmen' 
of  the  proposeo  eno.  I  might  either  recommence  the  course 
of  last  summer,  and  -eview  the  general  history  of  European 
civilization  in  its  whole  extent,  by  giving  in  detail  that  which 
it  was  impossible  to  give  in  mass,  and  by  again  passing  over 
with  more  leisurely  steps  that  ground  which  before  was  gone 
over  in  almost  breathless  haste.  Or  I  might  study  the  history 
of  civilization  in  a  single  great  country,  in  one  of  the  princi- 
pal European  nations  in  which  it  has  been  developed,  and 
thus,  by  confining  the  field  of  my  researches,  be  the  bettei 
enabled  thoroughly  to  explore  it. 

The  first  method  seemed  to  ofFer  serious  inconveniences. 
It  would  be  very  ditlicult,  if  not  impossible,  to  maintain  any 
unity  in  a  history  with  so  extensive  a  range,  and  which,  at 
the  same  time,  should  be  perfect  in  all  its  details.  We  dis- 
covered last  summer,  that  there  was  a  true  unity  running 
through  European  civilization  ;  but  this  unity  is  only  visible 
in  general  actions  and  grand  results.  We  must  ascend  tiie 
highest  mountain  before  the  petty  inequalities  and  diversities 
of  the  surface  will  become  invisible,  and  before  we  can  dis- 
cover the  general  aspect,  and  the  true  and  essential  nature 
of  the  entire  country.  When  we  quit  general  facts  and  wish 
to  look  into  particulars,  the  unity  vanishes,  the  diversities 
again  apjjcar,  and  in  the  variety  of  occurrences  one  loses 
sight  of  both  causes  and  effects  ;  so  that  to  give  a  detailed 
history,  and  still  to  preserve  some  harmony,  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  narrow  the  field  of  inquiry. 

There  is  also  another  great  objection  to  this  method,  in  the 
immense  extent  and  diversity  of  knowledge  which  it  pre- 
supposes  and  requires  both  in  the  speaker  and  his  audience. 
Those  who  wish  to  trace  witli  moderate  accuracy  the  course 
Df  European  civilization  should  have  a  sufficiently  intimate 
acquaintance,  not  only  with  the  events  which  have  passed 
among  each  people,  witn  their  history,  but  likewise,  with 
.heir  language,  literature,  and  philosophy,  in   short,  with  all 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  IJ 

phases  of  th(!ir  career;  a  work  which  is  evidently  almost  im- 
possible, and  certainly  so  in  the  time  which  we  could  spend 
upon  it. 

It  appears  to  me,  that  by  studying  tlio  history  of  civiliza- 
lion  in  one  great  European  nation,  I  shall  arrive  more 
quickly  at  the  desired  result.  The  unity  of  the  narrative 
will  then,  indeed,  be  compatible  with  details  ;  there  is  in  every 
country  a  certain  national  harmony,  which  is  the  result  of 
the  community  of  manners,  laws,  language,  and  events,  and 
this  harmony  is  imprinted  in  the  civilization.  We  may  pass 
from  fact  to  fact  without  losing  sight  of  the  whole  picture. 
And  lastly,  though  I  will  not  say  that  it  can  easily  be  done, 
it  is  yet  possible  to  combine  the  knowledge  necessary  for  such 
a  work. 

I  have  therefore  decided  upon  this  second  method,  upon 
that  of  abandoning  the  general  iiistory  of  European  civiliza- 
tion, in  all  the  nations  which  have  contributed  thereto,  and 
confining  myself  to  the  civilization  of  one  country,  which,  if 
we  note  the  differences  between  it  and  other  countries,  may 
become,  for  our  purpose,  an  image  of  the  whole  destiny  of 
Europe. 

The  choice  of  method  being  once  made,  that  of  a  nation 
easily  follows  ;  I  have  taken  the  history  and  civilization  of 
France.  I  shall  certainly  not  deny  having  experienced  a 
sensation  of  pleasure  while  making  this  choice.  No  one  will 
jcny  that  the  emotions  of  patriotism  are  legitimate,  provided 
they  be  sanctioned  by  truth  and  reason.  Some  there  are,  in 
the  present  day,  who  seem  to  fear  that  patriotism  suflbrs  much 
from  tlio  enlargement  of  ideas  and  sentiments,  arising  from 
the  actual  state  of  European  civilization  ;  they  j)redict  that 
It  will  become  enervated,  and  lose  itself  in  cosmopolitism. 
I  cannot  share  such  fears.  In  the  present  day,  it  will  be  with 
patriotism  as  with  all  human  actions,  feelings,  and  opinions. 
It  is  condemned,  I  admit,  incessantly  to  undergo  the  test  of 
publicity,  of  inquiry  and  discussion ;  it  is  condemned  nr, 
longer  to  remain  a  mere  prejudice,  habit,  or  a  blind  ano  ex- 
clusive passion  ;  it  must  give  a  reason  for  itself.  It  will  be 
o|>pressed  by  this  necessity  no  more  than  any  natural  anc 
legitimate  feelings  are;  on  the  contrary,  it  will  become  re- 
fined and  elevated.  These  are  the  tests  to  which  it  must 
submit,  and  it  will  soar  above  them.  I  can  truly  say,  if 
any  other  history  in  Europe  had  appeared  to  me  greater,  more 
instructive,  or  better  suited   to   represent  the  general  cour.sc 


18  HISTORY    OF 

of  civilization  than  that  of  France,  I  should  have  ciiosen  It, 
But  I  have  reasons  for  selecting  France ;  independently  of 
the  special  interest  which  its  history  has  for  us,  France  has 
long  since  been  proclaimed  by  all  Europe  the  most  civilized 
of  its  nations.  Whenever  the  opinion  of  the  struggle  has  not 
been  between  the  national  all-love,  when  one  seeks  the  true 
and  disinterested  opinion  of  people  in  the  ideas  and  actions 
wherein  it  manifests  itself  indirectly,  witiiout  taking  the  Ibrin 
of  a  controversy,  we  find  that  France  is  acknowledged  to  bo 
the  country  in  which  civilization  has  appeared  in  its  most 
complete  form,  where  it  lias  been  most  communicative,  and 
where  it  has  most  forcibly  struck  tlie  European  imagination. 

And  we  must  not  suppose,  that  the  superiority  of  this 
country  is  solely  attributable  to  the  amenity  of  our  social  re- 
lations,  to  the  gentleness  of  our  manners,  or  to  that  easy  and 
animated  life  which  people  so  often  come  to  seek  among  us. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  partly  arises  from  these  attri. 
butes ;  but  the  fact  of  whioh  I  speak  has  more  profound  and 
universal  causes :  it  is  not  a  fashion,  as  might  liave  been 
supposed  when  the  question  was  concerning  the  civilization 
of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.,  neitlier  is  it  a  popular  ebullition, 
as  a  view  of  our  own  times  would  lead  us  to  suppose.  The 
preference  which  the  disinterested  opinion  of  Europe  accords 
to  French  civilization  is  pbilosopliically  just ;  it  is  the  result 
of  an  instinctive  judgment,  doubtless  in  some  measure  con- 
fused, but  well  based,  upon  the  essential  elements  and  general 
nature  of  civilization. 

You  will  cull  to  mind  the  definition  of  civilization  I  at. 
tempted  to  give  in  the  commencement  of  the  former  course 
of  lectures.  I  there  souglit  to  discover  what  ideas  attach 
themselves  to  this  word  in  the  common  use  of  men.  It  ap- 
peared to  me,  on  a  reference  to  general  opinion,  that  civiliza- 
tion essentially  consists  of  two  principles  ;  the  improvement 
of  the  exterior  and  general  condition  of  man,  and  that  of  hia 
inward  and  personal  nature  ;  in  a  word,  in  the  improvemcnl 
both  of  society  and  of  iiumanity. 

And  it  is  not  these  two  j)rinciples  of  themselves,  which  con- 
stitute civilization;  to  bring  it  to  perfection,  their  intimate  and 
rapid  union,  simultaneousness,  and  reciprocal  action,  are  ab- 
solutely necessary.  1  showed  that  if  they  do  not  alway.s 
arrive  conjointly — that  if,  at  one  time,  the  improvement  of 
society,  and  at  another,  that  of  individual  man,  progresse? 
mnie  quickly  or  extends  further,  the}  are  not  the  less  neces- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  18 

»nry  the  one  to  the  other  ;  ihcy  excite  each  other,  and  soonoi 
or  later  will  anialganiate.  Wiien  one  progresses  for  any 
length  of  time  without  the  other,  and  when  their  union  is  long 
interrupted,  a  feeling  of  regret,  and  of  a  painful  hiatus  and 
incompleteness,  seizes  the  spectators.  If  an  iniportant  social 
nnprovement,  a  great  progress  in  material  well  being,  is  mani- 
ll^stcd  among  a  people  without  being  accom[)anied  by  inlellec 
tiial  improvement,  or  an  analogous  progression  in  mind  ;  the 
tocial  improvement  seems  precarious,  inexplicable,  and  almos' 
unjust.  One  asks  what  general  ideas  have  produced  and  jus- 
lified  it,  or  to  what  principles  it  attaches  itself.  One  wishes 
to  assure  oneself  that  it  will  not  be  limited  to  particular  gene- 
rations,  to  a  single  country  ;  i)ut  that  it  will  spread  and  com- 
municate itself,  and  that  it  will  fill  every  nation.  And  how 
can  social  improvement  spread  and  communicate  itself  but 
by  ideas,  upon  the  wings  of  doctrines  ?  Ideas  alone  mock  at 
distance,  pass  over  oceans,  and  everywhere  make  themselves 
received  and  comprehended.  Besides,  such  is  the  noble  na- 
ture of  Immanity,  that  it  cannot  see  a  great  improvement  in 
material  strength,  without  aspiring  to  the  moral  strength 
which  should  be  joined  with  it  and  direct  it  ;  something  sub- 
ordinate remains  imprinted  on  social  improvement,  as  long  as 
it  bears  no  fruit  but  mere  physical  prosperity,  as  long  as  it 
does  not  raise  the  mind  of  man  to  the  level  of  his  condition. 

So,  on  the  other  hand,  if  any  great  intellectual  improvement 
appears,  unaccompanied  by  asocial  progress, one  feels  uneasy 
and  surprised.  It  seems  as  if  we  saw  a  beautiful  tree  devoid 
of  fruit,  or  a  sun  bringing  with  it  neither  heat  nor  fertility. 
Or  3  feels  a  kind  of  disdain  for  ideas  thus  barren,  and  not 
seizing  upon  the  external  world.  And  not  only  do  we  feel  a 
disdain  for  therr,  but  in  the  end  we  doubt  their  reasonable 
legitimacy  and  truth  ;  one  is  tempted  to  believe  them  chime- 
rical, when  they  show  themselves  powerless  and  incapable  of 
governing  human  condition.  So  powerfully  is  man  impressed 
with  the  feeling  that  his  business  upon  earth  is  to  transform 
tlic  ideal  into  the  actual,  to  reform  and  regulate  the  world 
which  ne  inhabits  according  to  the  truth  he  conceives;  so 
rdosely  are  the  two  great  elements  of  civilization,  social  and 
intellectual  development,  bound  to  one  another  ;  so  true  is  i( 
that  its  perfection  consists,  not  only  in  their  unioii,  but  in  theit 
niniullaneousness,  and  in  the  extent,  facility,  and  rapidity  with 
which  they  mutually  evoke  and  produce  themselves. 

Let  us  now  endeavor  to  regard  from  this  point  of  view  the 


14  HISTOUy    OF 

several  nations  of  Europe :  let  us  investigate  the  pailiculai 
characteristics  of  the  civilization  in  each  particular  case,  an<l 
in({uire  how  far  these  cliaracteristics  coincide  with  that  essen- 
tial, fundamental,  and  sublime  fact,  which  now  constitutes  for 
us  the  j)(!rreclion  of  civilization.  We  shall  thus  discover 
whicii  oi' tiio  various  kinds  of  European  civilization  is  the  most 
complete,  and  the  most  conformable  to  tlie  general  type  of 
civilization,  and,  consequently,  which  possesses  the  best  right 
to  our  attention,  and  best  represents  the  history  of  Europe. 

I  begin  with  England.  English  civilization  has  been  cspe 
cially  directed  towards  social  perfection  ;  towards  the  amcliora. 
lion  of  the  external  and  public  condition  of  men  ;  towards  the 
amelioration,  not  only  of  their  material  but  also  of  their  moral 
condition  ;  towards  the  introduction  of  more  justice,  more 
prosperity  into  society  ;  towards  the  development  of  right  as 
well  as  of  happiness. 

Nevertheless,  all  things  considered,  in  England  the  develop, 
ment  of  society  has  been  more  extensive  and  more  glorious 
than  that  of  humanity  ;  social  interest  and  social  facts  have, 
in  England,  maintained  a  more  conspicuous  place,  and  have 
exercised  more  power  than  general  ideas :  the  nation  seems 
greater  than  the  individual.  This  is  so  true,  that  even  the 
philosophers  of  England,  men  who  seem  devoted  by  their  pro- 
fession  to  the  development  of  pure  intelligence — as  Bacon, 
Locke,  and  the  Scotch  philosophers — belong  to  wiiat  one  may 
call  the  practical  school  of  philosophy  ;  they  concern  them- 
selves,  above  all  things,  with  direct  and  positive  results ;  tiiey 
trust  tliemselves  neither  to  the  flights  of  the  imagination,  nor 
to  the  Jeductions  of  logic  :  theirs  is  the  genius  of  common 
sense.  I  turn  to  the  periods  of  England's  greatest  intellectual 
activity,  the  periods  when  ideas  and  mental  movements  occu- 
pied the  most  conspicuous  place  in  iier  history  :  I  take  the  poli- 
tical and  religious  crisis  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies. No  man  is  ignorant  of  the  mighty  movement  which 
was  going  on  at  that  time  in  England.  Can  any  one,  how- 
ever,  tell  me  of  any  great  philosophical  system,  of  any  great 
general  doctrines  since  become  law  in  Euroi)e,  which  were 
born  of  this  movement?  It  has  had  immense  and  udmirablc 
results  ;  it  has  established  rights,  manners  ;  it  has  not  only 
powerfully  influenced  social  relations,  it  has  influenced  tlu; 
sou's  of  men  ;  it  lias  made  sects  and  enthusiasts,  but  it  lias 
hardly  exalted  or  extended — at  all  events  directly — tlu^  hori- 
Eon  of  the  iiuman  mind;   it  lias  not  ignited  one  of  those  greiii 


CIVILIZATION     IN    FRAN.'K  15 

mtellcclual  torclics  which  illuminate  an  entire  cpoc^h.  Per- 
haps  in  no  country  have  religious  creeds  possessed,  nor  at  the 
present  day  do  they  possess  more  power  than  in  England  ; 
l)Ut  thev  are,  above  all  things,  practical  ;  they  exert  a  great 
influence  over  the  conduct,  happiness,  and  sentiments  of  indi- 
viduals :  but  they  have  few  general  and  mental  results,  results 
which  address  themselves  to  the  whole  of  the  human  race. 
Under  whatever  point  of  view  you  regard  this  civilization,  you 
will  discover  this  essentially  practical  and  social  character. 
I  might  investigate  this  dnvclopmont  in  a  more  extended  do- 
uree ;  I  might  review  every  class  of  English  society,  and  I 
should  everywhere  be  struck  with  the  same  fact.  In  litera- 
ture, for  instance,  practical  merit  still  predominates.  There 
is  no  one  who  will  say  that  the  English  are  skilful  at  com- 
posing  a  book,  the  artistical  and  rational  arrangement  of  the 
whole,  in  the  distribution  of  the  parts,  in  executing  so  as  to 
strike  the  imagination  of  the  reader  with  that  perfection  of  art 
and  form,  which,  above  all  things,  gratifies  the  understanding. 
This  purely  intellectual  aim  in  works  of  genius  is  the  weak 
point  of  English  writers,  whilst  they  excel  in  the  power  oi 
persuasion  by  the  lucidity  of  their  expositions,  by  frequently 
returning  to  the  same  ideas,  by  the  evidence  of  good  sense,  in 
short,  by  all  the  ways  of  leading  to  practical  eflbcts. 

Tlie  same  character  is  seen,  even  in  the  English  language. 
It  is  not  a  language  rationally,  uniformly,  and  systematically 
constructed  ;  it  borrows  words  on  all  sides,  from  the  most 
various  sources,  without  troubling  itself  about  maintaining  any 
symmetry  or  harmony.  Its  essential  want  is  that  logical 
beauty  whijh  is  seen  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages:  it 
has  an  appearance  of  coarseness  and  incoherence.  Hut  it  is 
rich,  flexible,  fitted  for  general  adaptation,  and  capable  of  sup- 
plying all  the  wants  of  man  in  the  external  course  of  life. 
Everywhere  the  principle  of  utility  and  application  dominates 
•n  England,  and  constitutes  at  once  the  physiognomy  and  the 
Ibrce  of  its  civilization. 

From  England  I  shall  pass  to  Germany.  The  development 
of  civilization  has  here  been  slow  and  tardy  ;  the  brutality  of 
<?crman  manners  has  been  proverbial  throughout  Europe  for 
centuries.  Still  when,  under  this  apparent  grossness,  one 
t*eekr  the  comparative  progress  of  the  two  fundamental  ele- 
ments of  civilization,  we  find  that,  in  Germany,  intellectual 
Jevelopment  has  always  surpassed  and  left  behind  social  de. 
velopment,  that  the  human  spirit  has  there  prospered  much 
more  than  the  human  condition. 


16  HISTORY    OF 

Compare  the  intellectual  state  of  the  German  reformera  at 
the  sixteenth  century — Luther,  Melancthon,  Bucer,  and  many 
others — compare,  I  say,  the  development  of  mind  which  if 
shown  in  their  works  with  the  contemporaneous  manners  of 
the  country.  What  a  disparity  !  In  the  seventeenth  century, 
place  tlie  ideas  of  Leihnitz,  tiie  studies  of  his  disciples,  and 
the  German  universities,  by  the  side  of  the  manners  which 
prevailed,  not  only  among  the  people,  but  also  among  tlie  su- 
perior classes ;  read,  on  one  side,  the  writings  of  the  philoso- 
phers, and,  on  the  other,  the  memoirs  which  paint  the  court  of 
the  elector  of  Brandenburg  or  Bavaria.  Wliat  a  contrast  ! 
When  we  arrive  at  our  own  times,  this  contrast  is  yet  more 
striking.  It  is  a  common  saj'ing  in  the  present  day,  that  be- 
yond  the  Rliine,  ideas  and  facts,  the  intellectual  and  the  real 
orders,  are  almost  entirely  separated.  No  one  is  ignorant  of 
what  has  been  the  activity  of  spirit  in  Germany  for  the  last 
fifty  years;  in  all  classes,  in  philosophy,  history,  general  lite- 
rature, or  poetry,  it  has  advanced  very  far.  It  may  be  said 
that  it  has  not  always  followed  the  best  path  ;  one  may  contest 
part  of  the  results  at  whieli  it  has  arrived;  yet  concerning  its 
energy  and  extensive  development  it  is  impossible  to  dispute. 
But  assuredly  the  social  state  and  public  condition  have  not 
advanced  at  the  same  pace.  Without  doubt,  there  also  pro- 
gress and  amelioration  have  been  made  ;  but  it  is  impossible 
to  draw  a  comparison  between  the  two  facts.  Tiius,  the  pe- 
culiar character  of  all  works  in  Germany,  in  poetry,  philoso- 
phy, or  history,  is  a  non-acquaintance  with  the  external  world, 
the  absence  of  the  feeling  of  reality.  One  perceives,  in  read- 
ing them,  that  life  and  facts  have  exercised  but  little  influence 
upon  the  authors,  that  they  have  not  pre-occupied  tiieir  ima- 
gination ;  they  have  lived  retired  within  themselves,  by  turns 
enthusiasts  or  logicians.  Just  as  the  practical  genius  every- 
where shows  itself  in  England,  so  the  pure  intellectual  ac- 
tivity is  the  dominant  feature  of  German  civilization. 

In  Italy  we  shall  find  neither  one  nor  the  otiier  of  thesn 
characters.  Italian  civilization  has  been  neither  essentially 
practical  as  that  of  England,  nor  almost  exclusively  speculative 
as  that  of  Germany  ;  in  Italy,  neither  great  development  of 
individual  intelligence,  nor  social  skill  and  ability  have  been 
rt'aiiling;  the  Italians  have  flourislicd  and  cxcellL-d  at  one  and 
the  same  time  in  the  pure  sciences,  the  arts  and  philosophy, 
us  well  as  in  practical  alTairs  and  life.  For  some  time,  it  ia 
true,  Italy  seems  to  have  stopped  in  both  of  these  prngreo- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  17 

lions ;  society  and  tlie  liunian  mind  seem  enervated  and 
paralysed  ;  but  one  feels,  upon  looking  closely,  that  this  is  no 
the  efFect  of  an  inward  and  national  incapacity  ;  it  is  fron 
without  that  Italy  is  weighed  down  and  impeded  ;  she  re- 
sembles a  beautiful  flower  that  wishes  to  blossom,  but  is  com- 
pressed  in  every  part  by  a  cold  and  rude  hand.  Neither 
intellectual  nor  political  capacity  has  perished  in  Italy  ;  it 
wants  that  which  it  has  always  wanted,  and  which  is  every- 
where one  of  the  vital  conditions  of  civilization, — it  wants 
faith,  the  faith  in  truth.  I  wish  to  make  myself  correctly 
understood,  and  not  to  have  attributed  to  my  words  a  different 
sense  from  that  which  I  intend  to  convey.  I  mean  here, 
by  faith,  that  confidence  in  truth,  which  not  only  causes  it  to 
be  held  as  truth,  and  which  satisfies  the  mind,  but  which  gives 
men  a  confidence  in  right  to  reign  over  the  world,  to  gov- 
ern facts,  and  in  its  power  to  succeed.  It  is  Ijy  this 
feeling  that,  once  having  possession  of  truth,  man  feels  called 
upon  to  introduce  it  into  external  facts,  to  reform  them, 
and  to  regulate  them  according  to  reason.  Well,  it  is  this 
which  is  almost  uriiversally  wanted  in  Italy  ;  she  has  been 
fertile  in  great  minds,  and  in  universal  ideas  ;  she  has  been 
thronged  with  men  of  rare  practical  ability,  versed  in  the 
knowledge  of  all  conditions  ot  external  life,  and  in  the  art  of 
conducting  and  managing  society  ;  but  these  two  classes  of 
men  and  facts  have  remained  strangers  to  each  other.  The 
men  of  universal  ideas,  the  speculative  spirits,  have  not  be- 
lieved in  the  duty,  perhaps  not  even  in  the  right,  of  influenc- 
ing society  ;  although  confident  in  the  truth  of  their  principles, 
they  have  doubted  their  power.  Men  of  action,  on  the  otliet 
hand,  the  masters  of  society,  have  held  small  account  of 
universal  ideas ;  they  have  scarcely  ever  felt  a  desire  to 
regulate,  according  to  fixed  principles,  the  facts  which  came 
under  their  dominion.  Both  have  acted  as  if  it  was  desirable 
merely  to  know  the  truth,  but  as  if  it  had  no  further  influence, 
and  demanded  nothing  more.  It  is  this,  alike  in  the  fifteenth 
century  and  in  later  times,  that  has  been  the  weak  side  of 
civilization  in  Italy  ;  it  is  this  which  has  struck  with  a  kind 
of  barrenness  both  its  speculative  genius  and  its  oractical 
ai)ilily  J  iiere  the  two  powers  have  not  lived  in  reciprocal  con- 
fidcnce,  in  correspondence,  in  continual  action  and  reaction. 

There  is  another  great  country  of  which,  indeed,  I  speak 
more  out  of  consideration  and  respect  for  a  noble  and  unhappy 
nation,  than   from  necessity  ;  I  mean  Spain.     Neither  greai 


18  HISTOHY    OF 

minds  nor  great  events  have  been  wanting  in  Spain  ;  unHci 
slamiing  and  liinnan  sociely  have  at  times  appeared  there  Ir 
-ull  4.)uU\Xi!,-.r^  ^  >>*»4  jlwvsf  4,)v -is,i))si4->+i  fn,'!?,  v<fisl  hr-if -*.n<:l -th.-iv 
throughout  Spanish  liistory,  like  paluj-treos  on  a  ttoscil.  Tlio 
fundamental  character  of  civilization,  its  continued  and  uni- 
versal progress,  seems  denied  in  Spain,  as  much  to  the  liunum 
mind  as  to  society.  There  has  been  either  solemn  immobilit) , 
or  fruitless  revolutions.  Seek  one  great  idea,  or  social, 
amelioration,  one  philosophical  system  or  fertile  institution, 
which  Spain  has  given  to  Europe  ;  there  are  none  such :  this 
nation  has  remained  isolated  in  Europe  ;  it  has  received  as 
little  from  it  as  it  has  contributed  to  it.  I  should  have  re- 
proached myself,  had  I  wholly  omitted  its  name ;  but  it° 
civilization  is  of  small  importance  in  the  history  of  llie  civili 
zation  of  Europe. 

You  see  that  the  fundamental  principle,  the  sublime  fact  ol 
general  civilization,  the  intimate  and  rapid  union,  and  the 
harmonious  development  of  ideas  and  facts,  in  the  intel- 
lectual and  real  orders,  has  been  produced  in  neitiier  of  the 
great  countries  at  which  we  have  glanced.  Something  is 
essentially  wanting  in  all  of  ihem  to  com|)lete  civilization; 
neither  of  them  offers  us  the  complete  image,  the  pure  type  of 
civilization  in  all  its  conditions,  and  with  all  its  great  charac- 
teristics. 

In  France  it  is  difTeren';.  In  France,  the  intellectual  and 
.social  development  have  never  failed  each  other.  Here 
society  and  man  have  always  progressed  and  improved,  i 
will  not  say  abreast  and  equally,  but  within  a  short  distance 
of  each  other.  By  the  side  of  great  events,  revolutions,  and 
public  ameliorations,  we  always  lind  in  this  country  universal 
ideas  and  corresponding  doctrines.  Nothing  has  passed  in 
the  real  world,  but  the  understanding  has  immediately  seized 
it,  and  thence  derived  new  riches;  nothing  within  the  do. 
minion  of  understanding,  which  has  not  had  in  the  real  world, 
and  that  almost  always  immediately,  its  echo  and  result. 
Indeed,  as  a  general  thing,  in  France,  ideas  have  |)receded 
and  impelled  the  progress  of  the  social  order  ;  they  have  been 
prepared  in  doctrines,  before  being  accomplished  in  things, 
and  in  thi  much  of  civilization  mind  has  always  taken  the 
lead.  This  two-fold  character  of  intellectual  activity  anil 
\>iactical  ability,  of  meditation  and  a])plication,  is  shown  in  all 
the  great  events  of  French  history,  and  in  all  the  great  classes 
of  French  society,  ai<d  gives  them  an  aspect  which  we  do  na 
find  elsewhere. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  I9 

At  tho  comincncctnciit  oftlie  twelfth  century,  for  example, 
burst  fortli  the  great  movement  for  the  enfranchisement  of 
the  Commons,  a  great  step  in  social  condition  ;  at  the  same 
time  was  manifested  a  vivid  aspiration  after  freedom  of 
thought.  Abailard  was  contemporary  with  the  citizens  of 
Laoii  and  Vezelay.  The  first  great  struggle  of  free-thouglit 
iigainst  absolute  power  in  the  intellectual  order,  is  contempo- 
raucous  with  the  struggle  of  the  citizens  for  public  liberty. 
Those  two  movements,  it  is  true,  were  apparently  foreign  to 
each  other;  the  philosophers  had  a  very  ill  opinion  of  the 
insurgent  citizens,  whom  they  treated  as  barbarians ;  and 
the  citizens,  in  their  turn,  when  they  heard  them  spoken  of, 
regarded  the  philosophers  as  heretics.  But  the  double  pro- 
gress is  not  the  less  simultaneous. 

Quit  the  twelfth  century  ;  take  one  of  the  establishments 
which  have  played  the  most  conspicuous  part  in  the  history 
of  m"nd  in  France,  the  university  of  Paris.  No  one  is 
ignorant  of  what  have  been  its  scientific  labors,  dating  from 
the  thirteenth  century  ;  it  was  the  first  establishment  of  the 
kind  in  Europe.  'I'here  was  no  other  in  the  same  age  which 
had  so  important  and  active  a  political  existence.  The  Uni- 
versity of  Paris  is  associated  with  the  policy  of  kings,  and 
with  all  the  struggles  of  the  French  clergy  against  the  couti 
of  Rome,  and  those  of  the  clergy  against  the  temporal  power; 
ideas  developed  themselves,  and  doctrines  were  established  in 
its  bosom  ;  and  it  strove  almost  immediately  to  propagate 
them  in  the  external  world.  It  was  the  principles  of  the 
University  of  Paris  which  served  as  the  standard  of  the 
reformers  at  the  councils  of  Constance  and  Basle  ;  which 
were  the  origin  of,  and  sustained  the  Pragmatic  Sftnction  of 
Charles  VII. 

Intellectual  activity  and  positive  influence  have  for  cen- 
turies been  inseparable  in  this  great  school.  Let  us  pass  to 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  glance  at  the  history  of  the 
Reformation  in  France  ;  it  has  here  a  distinguishing  charac- 
ter ;  it  was  more  learned,  or,  at  least,  as  learned  as  elsewhere, 
and  more  moderate  and  reasonable.  The  principal  struggle 
ot  erudition  and  doctrine  against  the  Catholic  church  was 
sustained  by  the  French  Reformers  ;  it  was  cither  in  France 
f>r  Holland,  and  always  in  French,  that  so  tnany  philosophical, 
historical,  and  polemical  works  were  written  in  this  cau.-?e ; 
it  is  certain,  that  at  this  epoch,  neither  in  Germany  nor  in 
Kngland,  was  there  so  much  spirit  and  learning  employed ; 
22 


2(1  HISTORY    OF 

Ihe  French  Reformation,  too,  was  a  stranger  to  the  flights 
of  the  German  anabaptists  and  the  English  sectarians ;  it  was 
seldom  it  was  wanting  in  practical  prudence,  and  yet  one 
cannot  doubt  the  energy  and  sincerity  of  its  creed,  since  fcr 
so  long  a  period  it  withstood  the  most  severe  reverses. 

Ill  /nodern  times,  in  the  seventeenth  and  cigthccnth  confu. 
ries,  the  intimate  and  rapid  union  of  ideas  with  facts,  anJ 
the  development  both  of  society  and  of  man  as  an  individual, 
are  so  evident,  that  it  is  needless  to  insist  upon  them. 

We  see,  then,  four  or  five  great  epochs,  and  four  or  five 
grand  events,  in  which  the  particular  character  of  French 
civilization  is  shown.  Let  us  take  the  various  classes  of  our 
society  ;  let  us  regard  their  manners  and  physiognomy,  and  we 
shall  be  struck  with  the  same  fact.  Tiie  clergy  of  France  is 
both  learned  and  active,  it  is  connected  with  all  intellectual 
works  and  all  woildly  affairs  as  reasoner,  scholar,  adminis- 
trator ;  it  is,  as  it  were,  neither  exclusively  devoted  to 
religion,  science,  nor  politics,  but  is  constantly  occupied  in 
combining  and  conciliating  them  all.  Tiie  French  philoso- 
phers also  present  a  rare  mixture  of  speculation  and  practical 
knowledge  ;  they  meditate  profoundly  and  boldly  ;  they  seek 
the  pure  truth,  without  any  view  to  its  ajjplication  ;  but  they 
always  keep  up  a  sympathy  witli  the  external  world,  and 
with  the  facts  in  the  midst  of  which  they  live  ;  they  elevate 
themselves  to  the  greatest  height,  but  witliout  ever  losing 
sight  of  the  earth.  Montaigne,  Descartes,  Pascal,  Baylc, 
almost  all  the  great  French  philosophers,  are  neither  pure 
logicians  nor  enthusiasts.  Last  summer,  in  this  place,  you 
heard  therr  eloquent  interpreter'  characterize  the  genius  of 
Descartes,- who  was  at  the  same  time  a  man  of  science  and  a 
man  of  the  world.  "  Clear,  firm,  resolved,  and  daring,  he 
thought  in  his  study  with  the  same  intrepidity  with  which  he 
fought  under  the  walls  of  Prague  ;"  having  an  inclination 
alike  for  the  movement  of  life  and  for  the  activity  of  thought. 
Our  philosophers  have  not  all  of  them  possessed  the  same 
genius,  nor  experienced  the  same  adventurous  0^stiny  ah 
Descartes  ;  but  almost  all  of  them,  at  the  same  time  'hat  the) 
Bought  truth,  have  comprehended  the  world.  Tb-^y  wert 
alike  capable  of  observing  and  of  meditating. 

Finally,  in  the  history  of  France,  what  is  the  penioulni 


'M.  Villeniain. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  21 

irait  which  charactcrizns  the  only  class  of  men  who  have 
Ihero  taken  a  truly  public  part,  the  only  men  who  have  at- 
tempted to  thoroughly  bring  the  country  within  its  adminis- 
tration,  and  to  give  a  legal  government  to  the  nation,  the 
French  magistracy  and  the  bar,  the  parliaments  and  all  that 
surrounds  them  ?  Is  it  not  essentially  this  mixture  of  learn- 
intr  and  practical  wisdom,  this  respect  for  ideas  and  facts,  f()r 
scfence  and  its  application  ?  Wherever  pure  knowledge  ia 
exercised,  in  erudition,  philosophy,  literature,  or  history, 
everywhere  you  encounter  the  parliaments  and  the  Frenoh 
bar ;  they  take  part,  at  the  same  time,  in  all  affairs,  both 
public  and  private  ;  and  they  have  had  a  hand  in  all  the  real 
and  positive  interests  of  society. 

From  whatever  point  of  view  we  regard  France,  we  shall 
discover  this  two-fold  character.  The  two  essential  principles 
of  civilization  are  there  developed  in  a  strict  correspondence. 
There  man  has  never  been  wanting  in  individual  greatness; 
nor  has  his  individual  greatness  been  devoid  of  public  im- 
portance and  utility.  Much  has  been  said,  especially  latterly, 
of  good  sense  as  a  distinguishing  trait  of  French  geniu.s. 
This  is  true;  but  it  is  not  a  purely  practical  good  sense, 
merely  calculated  to  succeed  in  its  enterprises ;  it  is  an  ele- 
vated and  philosophical  good  sense,  which  penetrates  to  the 
roots  of  ideas,  and  comprehends  and  judges  them  in  all  their 
bearings,  while  at  the  same  time  it  attends  to  external  facts. 
This  good  sense  is  reason  ;  the  French  mind  is  at  the  same 
time  reasoning  and  reasonable. 

To  France,  then,  must  be  ascribed  this  honor,  that  her 
civilization  has  reproduced  more  faithfully  than  any  other  the 
general  type  and  fundamental  idea  of  civilization.  It  is  the 
most  complete,  the  most  veritable,  and,  so  to  speak,  the  most 
civilized  of  civiliza  ions.  This  it  is  has  given  her  the  first 
rank  in  the  disinterested  opinion  of  Europe.  France  has 
proved  herself  at  once  intelligent  and  powerful,  rich  in  ideas, 
and  in  the  means  of  giving  effect  to  those  ideas.  She  has 
addressed  herself  at  once  to  the  intellect  of  the  nations,  and 
to  their  desire  for  social  amelioration  ;  she  has  aroused  at  once 
imagination  and  ambition  ;  she  has  manifested  a  capability 
Df  discovering  the  truth,  and  of  making  it  prevail.  By  thia 
double  title,  she  has  rendered  herself  popular,  for  this  is  the 
double  want  of  humanity." 

We  are,  then,  fully  entitled  to  regard  civilization  in  Franct' 
to  having  the  first  claim  on  our  attention,  as  being  the  mtwi 


22  HisTonv  OP 

important  in  itself,  the  most  fruitful  of  consequences,  h 
studying  it,  we  must  earnestly  regard  it  under  the  douhla 
aspect  I  have  indicated,  of  social  development  and  of  inteU 
lecvual  development ;  we  must  closely  watch  the  progress  of 
ideas,  of  mind,  of  tlie  interior  individual  man,  and  of  liis  ex- 
terior and  general  condition.  Considering  it  upon  this  prin- 
ciple,  there  is  not  in  tiie  general  history  of  Europe  any  great 
event,  any  great  question  whicli  we  shall  not  meet  with  in 
our  own.  We  shall  thus  attain  the  historical  and  scientific, 
ohject  wliich  we  proposed  to  ourselves;  we  shall  be  constantly 
present  at  the  spectacle  of  European  civilization,  witJioul  W 
ing  ourselves  lost  in  the  number  and  variety  of  the  scenes 
and  actors. 

But  we  have  before  us,  as  I  conceive,  something  more,  and 
something  more  important  than  a  spectacle,  or  even  than 
study ;  unless  1  am  altogether  mistaken,  we  seek  someliiing 
beyond  mere  information.  The  course  of  civilization,  and  in 
particular  that  of  the  civilization  of  France,  has  raised  a  great 
problem,  a  problem  peculiar  to  our  own  time,  in  which  all 
futurity  is  interested,  not  only  our  own  future  but  that  of  liu- 
manity  at  large,  and  which  we,  we  of  the  present  generation, 
are,  perhaps,  especially  called  upon  to  solve. 

What  is  the  spirit  which  now  prevails  in  the  intellectual 
world,  which  presides  over  the  search  after  truth,  in  whatever 
direction  truth  is  sought?  A  spirit  of  rigorous  reserve,  of 
strict,  cautious  prudence,  a  scientific  spirit,  u  philosophical 
spirit  pursuing  a  philosophical  method.  It  is  a  spirit  wliich 
carefully  observes  facts,  and  only  admits  generalization  slowly, 
progressively,  concurrently  with  the  ascertainment  of  facts. 
This  spirit  has,  for  more  than  a  half  century  past,  manifestly 
prevailed  in  the  conduct  of  the  sciences  which  occupy  them- 
selves in  the  material  world  ;  it  has  been  the  cause  of  their 
progress,  the  source  of  their  glory  ;  and  now,  every  day  it 
infuses  itself  more  and  more  deeply  into  the  sciences  of  the 
moral  world,  into  politics,  history,  philosophy.  In  every  di- 
rection the  scientific  method  is  extending  and  establishing 
itself;  in  every  direction  the  necessity  is  more  and  more  felt 
of  taking  facts  as  the  basis  and  rule  of  our  proceedings;  and 
we  all  fully  understand  that  facts  constitute  the  subject  mattei 
of  science,  and  that  no  general  idea  can  be  of  any  real  value, 
unless  it  be  founded  upon,  and  supported  throughout  its  pro- 
gress  by  facts.  Facts  are  now  in  the  intellectual  order,  th«< 
cower  in  authority. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  23 

In  llic  real  ordrr,  in  the  social  world,  in  the  government, 
in  the  public  administration,  in  political  economy,  we  perceiv*- 
n  difTorent  tendency  ;  there  prevails  the  empire  of  ideas,  of 
reasoning,  of  general  principles,  of  what  is  called  theory. 
Such  is  evidently  the  feature  of  the  great  revolution  which 
has  developed  itself  in  our  time,  of  all  the  labors  of  the 
eighteenth  century  ;  and  the  feature  is  not  merely  one  cha- 
ractcrizinfT  a  crisis,  a  period  of  transient  agitation  ;  it  is  the 
permanent  regular,  calm  characteristic  of  the  social  stale 
which  is  now  establishing,  or,  at  all  events,  announcing  itself 
in  every  direction— a  social  state,  which  has  its  basis  on  dis- 
cussion and  publicity,  that  is  to  say,  on  the  empire  of  public 
reason,  on  the  empire  of  doctrines,  of  convictions  common  to 
all  the  members  of  the  society.  On  the  one  hand,  then,  never 
before  have  facts  held  so  large  a  place  in  science ;  on  the 
other,  never  before  have  ideas  played  so  leading  a  part  in  the 
outer  world. 

Matters  were  very  difTerent  a  hundred  years  ago :  then,  in 
the  intellectual  order,  in  science  properly  so  called,  facts 
were  but  slightly  consulted,  but  little  respected  ;  reason  and 
imagination  gave  themselves  full  career,  and  men  yielded 
witirout  hesitation  to  the  wildest  impulses  of  hypothesis,  dash. 
ing  on  recklessly,  with  no  other  guide  than  the  thread  of  de- 
duction. In  the  political  order,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  real 
world,  facts  were  all  powerful,  were  admitted  without  a  doubt 
or  a  murmur,  as  the  authority  alike  de  jure  and  de  facto. 
Men  complained,  indeed,  of  particular  facts,  but  scarcely  ever 
ventured  to  contest  them  ;  sedition  itself  was  more  com»non 
in  those  times  than  freedom  of  thought.  He  who  should  have 
claimed  for  an  idea,  though  in  the  name  of  truth  itself,  any 
place  in  the  affairs  of  this  world,  would  have  had  reason  to 
repent  of  his  temerity. 

The  course  of  civilization,  then,  has  reversed  the  tormei 
order  of  things:  it  has  established  the  empire  of  facts  where 
once  the  free  movement  of  mind  dominated,  and  raised  ideas 
to  the  throne  once  filled  exclusively  by  facts. 

This  proposition  is  so  true,  that  the  result  stated  forms  a 
marked  feature  in  the  reproaches  of  which  modern  civilization 
is  made  the  object.  Whenever  the  adversaries  of  that  civili- 
zation  speak  of  the  actual  condition  of  the  human  mind,  ol 
the  direction  of  its  labors,  they  charge  it  with  being  hard, 
dry,  narrow.  This  rigorous  positive  method,  this  scientific 
spirit,  crami)s,  say  they,  the  ideas,  freezes  up  the  imagination. 


84  HISTORV    OF 

lakes  from  the  understanding  its  breadth,  its  freedom,  confines 
materializes  it.  Wlien  the  question  turns  upon  the  actual 
state  of  societies,  upon  what  societies  are  attempting,  are 
effecting,  these  same  men  exclaim :  "  Out  upon  chimeras  ! 
Place  no  faith  in  tiieories:  it  is  facts  alone  which  should  bo 
studied,  respected,  valued  ;  it  is  experience  alone  which  should 
be  believed."  So  that  modern  civilization  is  accused  at  CMce 
of  dryness  and  of  dreamy  reverie,  of  hesitation  and  of  pre- 
cipitation, of  timidity  and  of  temerity.  As  philosoj)hers,  we 
creep  along  the  earth  ;  as  politicians,  we  essay  the  enterprise 
of  Icarus,  and  we  shall  undergo  the  same  fate. 

It  is  this  double  reproach,  or  rather  this  double  danger, 
which  we  have  to  repel.  We  are  called  upon,  in  fact,  to  solve 
the  problem  which  has  occasioned  it.  We  are  called  upon 
o  confirm,  more  and  more,  in  the  intellectual  order,  the  em- 
pire of  facts — in  the  social  order,  the  empire  of  ideas  ;  to 
govern  our  reason  more  and  more  according  to  reality,  and 
reality  according  to  our  reason  ;  to  maintain  at  once  the  strict- 
ness of  the  scientific  method,  and  the  legitimate  empire  of  the 
intellect.  There  is  nothing  incongruous  or  inconsistent  in 
this,  far  from  it ;  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  the  natural,  necessary 
result  of  the  position  of  man,  as  a  spectator  of  the  world,  and 
of  his  mission  as  an  actor  in  its  mighty  drama.  I  take  no- 
thing for  granted  here,  I  make  no  comment ;  I  merely  describe 
what  I  see  before  me.  We  are  thrown  into  the  midst  of  a 
world  which  we  neither  invented  nor  created  ;  we  find  it 
before  us,  we  look  at  it,  we  study  it :  we  must  needs  take  it 
as  a  fact,  for  it  subsists  out  of  us,  independently  of  us;  it  u 
with  facts  our  mind  exercises  itself;  it  has  only  facts  for 
materials ;  and  when  it  comes  to  the  general  laws  resulting 
from  them,  the  general  laws  themselves  are  facts  like  any 
o<'  ers.  So  much  for  our  position  as  spectators.  As  actors, 
^  c  proceed  in  a  different  way  :  when  we  have  observed  ex- 
ternal facts,  our  acquaintance  with  these  developes  in  us  ideas 
hich  are  of  a  nature  superior  to  them  ;  we  feel  ourselves 
called  upon  to  reform,  to  perfectionate,  to  regulate  that  which 
is  ;  we  feel  ourselves  capable  of  acting  upon  the  world,  of 
extending  therein  the  glorious  empire  of  reason.  This  is  the 
mission  of  man  :  as  spectator,  he  is  subject  to  facts  ;  as  actor, 
he  takes  possession  of  them,  and  impresses  upon  them  a  more 
regular,  a  more  perfect  form.  I  was  justified,  then,  in  say. 
iiig  that  there  is  nothing  incongruous,  nothing  self-contiadic 
tory  in  the  problem  which  we  have  to  solve.     It  is  quite  true, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  26 

nowever,  that  there  is  a  double  danger  involved  in  this  double 
task  :  it  is  qiiitc  true,  that  in  studyinjT  facts,  the  understand- 
ing  may  be  overwhelmed  by  them  ;  that  it  may  become  de- 
pressed, confined,  materialized  ;  it  may  conceive  that  there 
arc  no  other  facts  than  those  whicii  strike  us  at  first  glance, 
wliich  present  themselves  directly,  obviously  before  us,  which 
make  themselves  palpable  !.o  the  senses ;  a  great  and  griev- 
ous error :  there  are  facts,  facts  so  remote  as  to  be  obscure, 
facts  vast,  sublime,  most  difficult  to  compass,  to  observe,  to 
describe,  but  which  arc  none  the  less  facts,  and  facts  which 
man  is,  none  the  less,  absolutely  called  upon  to  study  and  to 
know.  If  he  fail  to  make  himself  acquainted  with  them,  if 
he  forget  them,  the  character  of  his  thought  will  be  inevitably 
and  prodigiously  lowered,  and  all  the  learning  which  he  may 
possess  will  bear  the  impress  of  that  abasement.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  quite  possible  for  intellectual  ambition,  in  its 
action  upon  the  real  world,  to  be  carried  away,  to  become  ex- 
cessive, chimerical  ;  to  lose  itself  in  its  eagerness  to  extend 
too  far  and  too  rapidly  the  empire  of  its  ideas  over  external 
things.  But  this  double  danger  itself  proves  the  double  mis- 
sion whence  it  originates  ;  and  this  mission  must  be  accom- 
plished, the  problem  must  be  solved,  for  the  actual  condition 
of  civilization  lays  it  down  with  perfect  clearness,  and  will 
not  permit  it  to  be  lost  sight  of.  Henceforth,  whosoever,  in 
tlie  search  aflcr  truth,  shall  depart  from  the  scientific  method, 
will  not  be  in  a  position  to  take  the  study  of  facts  as  the  basis 
of  intellectual  development;  and  whosoever,  in  administering 
the  affairs  of  society,  shall  refuse  the  guidance  of  general 
principles  and  ideas,  of  doctrines,  will  assuredly  achieve  rio 
permanent  success,  will  find  himself  without  any  real  power  ; 
for  power  and  success,  whether  rational  or  social,  now 
wholly  depend  upon  the  conformity  of  our  labors  with  these 
two  laws  of  human  activity,  with  these  two  tendencies  of 
civilization. 

This  is  not  all  ;  we  have  still  a  far  difTerent  problem  to 
solve.  Of  the  two  which  I  have  laid  down,  the  one  is  sci- 
entific ana  the  other  social ;  the  one  concerns  pure  intelli- 
gence, the  study  of  truth ;  the  other  applies  the  results  of 
this  study  to  the  external  world.  There  is  a  third,  which 
arises  equally  from  the  present  state  of  civilization,  and  the 
solution  of  which  is  equally  prescribed  to  us ;  a  moral  prob- 
em  which  refers  not  to  science,  not  to  society,  but  to  the  ia 


tt)  HISTORY    OF 

ternal  development  of  each  of  us  to  the  merit,  the  worth  of  Uie 
individual  man. 

In  addition  to  the  otlier  reproaches  of  which,  as  1  have  said, 
our  civilization  is  niaoe  the  object,  it  is  accused  of  e.\ercisiu<i 
a  baleful  effect  upon  our  moral  nature.  Its  opponents  5aj\ 
that  by  its  everlastingly  disputative  spirit,  by  its  mama  fbi 
discussing  and  weighing  everything,  for  reducing  everyining 
to  a  precise  and  definite  value,  it  infrigidates,  dries  up,  con- 
centres the  human  soul ;  that  the  result  of  its  setting  up  a 
pretension  to  universal  infallibility,  of  its  assumption  of  a 
superiority  to  all  illusion,  all  impulse  of  the  thought,  of  its 
affecting  to  know  the  real  value  of  all  tilings,  will  be,  that  man 
will  become  severally  disgusted  with  all  the  rest  of  the  world, 
will  become  absorbed  in  self  Further,  it  is  said,  that  owing 
to  the  tranquil  ease  of  life  in  our  times,  to  the  facility  and 
amenity  of^  social  relations,  to  the  security  wiiich  prevails 
throughout  society,  men's  minds  become  effeminate,  enervated  ; 
and  that  thus,  at  tlie  same  time  that  we  acquire  the  habit  of 
looking  only  to  oneself,  one  acquires  also  a  habit  of  requiring 
all  things  for  oneself,  a  disposition  to  dispense  with  nothing, 
to  sacrifice  nothing,  to  sufTer  nothing.  In  a  word,  it  is  as- 
serted that  selfishness  on  the  one  hand,  and  captiuus  eflemi- 
nacy  on  the  other,  the  dry  hardness  of  manners,  and  their 
puerile  enervation,  are  the  natural  matter-of-course  results  of 
the  actual  condition  of  civilization  ;  that  high-souled  devotion 
and  energy,  at  once  the  two  great  powers  and  the  two  great 
virtues  of  man,  are  wanting,  and  will  be  more  and  more 
wanting,  in  the  periods  which  we  call  civilized,  and  more  es- 
pecially in  our  own. 

It  were  easy,  I  think,  to  repel  this  double  reproach,  and  to 
establish:  1,  the  general  proposition,  that  the  actual  condi- 
tion  of  civilization,  considered  thoroughly  and  as  a  whole, 
by  no  means  as  a  matter  of  moral  probability,  induces  as  its 
results  selfishness  and  effeminacy ;  2,  the  fact  that  neither 
devotion  nor  energy  have  been  found  to  be  wanting,  in  time 
of  need,  to  the  civilized  members  of  modern  times.  But  thi.s 
were  a  question  which  would  carry  us  too  far.  It  is  true, 
the  actual  state  of  civilization  imposes  upon  moral  devotior. 
an-^  energy,  as  upon  patriotism,  as  upon  all  the  noble  thoughtJ 
and  feelings  of  man,  an  additional  difficulty.  'IMiesc  grea 
faculties  of  our  nature  have  hitherto  often  manifested  them 
eelves  somewhat  fortuitously,  in  a  manner  characterized  b) 
no   reflection,   by  no  reference   to  motives;  so  to  speak,  al 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  21 

random.  Henceforth  they  will  be  bound  to  proceed  only 
upon  the  basis  of  reason  ;  legitimacy  of  motives,  and  utility 
of  results  will  be  required  of  them.  Doubtless,  this  is  an 
Qdelitionul  weight  for  nature  to  raise  up  ere  she  can  manifest 
tierself  in  all  her  grandeur  ;  but  she  will  raise  it  up.  Nevei 
vet  has  human  nature  been  wanting  to  herself,  never  has  she 
failed  of  that  which  circumstances  have  required  at  her 
hands ;  the  more  has  been  asked  of  her,  the  more  she  has 
given.  Her  revenue  ever  more  than  keeps  pace  with  her 
expenditure.  Eneigy  and  devotion  will  derive  from  othei 
sources,  will  manifest  themselves  under  other  forms.  Doubt- 
less, we  possess  not  fully  as  yet  those  general  ideas,  those 
itmate  convictions  which  must  inspire  the  qualities  I  speak 
of;  the  faith  which  corresponds  with  our  manners  is  as  yet 
weak,  shadowy,  tottering  ;  the  principles  of  devotion  and  en- 
ergy  which  were  in  action  in  past  times  are  now  without 
effect,  for  they  have  lost  our  confidence.  It  must  be  our  task 
to  seek  out  until  we  discover  principles  of  a  character  to  take 
stronfT  hold  of  us,  to  convince  our  minds  and  to  move  our 
hearts  at  one  and  the  same  time.  These  will  inspire  devotion 
and  energy  ;  these  will  keep  our  minds  in  that  state  of  disin- 
terested activity,  of  simple,  unsophisticated  steadfastness  which 
constitutes  moral  health.  The  same  progress  of  events  which 
imposes  the  necessity  of  doing  this  upon  us,  will  supply  us 
with  the  means  of  doing  it. 

In  the  study,  then,  upon  which  we  are  about  to  enter,  we 
have  to  aim  at  far  more  than  flic  mere  acquisition  of  know, 
lodtre ;  intellectual  development  cannot,  may  not  remain  an 
isolated  fact.  We  are  imperatively  called  upon  to  derive 
from  it,  for  our  country,  new  materials  of  civilization;  for 
ourselves,  a  moral  regeneration.  Science  is  a  beautiful 
thing,  undoubtedly,  and  of  itself  well  worth  all  the  labor 
that  man  may  bestow  upon  it ;  but  it  becomes  a  thousand 
times  grander  and  more  beautiful  when  it  becomes  a  power  ; 
when  it  becomes  the  parent  of  virtue.  This,  then,  is  what 
we  have  to  do  in  the  course  of  these  lectures :  to  discover 
the  truth  ;  to  realize  it  out  of  ourselves  in  external  facts, 
for  the  benefit  of  society ;  in  ourselves,  to  convert  it  into 
0  faith  capable  of  inspiring  us  with  disinterestedness  and 
moral  energy,  the  force  and  dignity  of  man  in  this  world. 
This  is  our  triple  task  ;  this  the  aim  and  object  of  our  labor  ; 
a  labor  difficult   of    execution   and  slow  of   orogress,   anJ 


28  HISTORY  or 

which  success,  instead  of  terminating,  only  extends.  Bu, 
in  nothing,  perhaps,  is  it  given  to  man  ever  to  arrive  at  the 
goal  he  has  proposed  to  himself;  his  glory  is  in  advancino 
towards  it. 


CrVILlZATION    IN    FRANCE.  2ti 


SECOND  LECTURE. 

Necessity  of  reading  a  general  history  of  France  bef.ic  we  stLjy  thai 
o(  civilization — M.  de  Sistnondi's  vvnrk — Why  we  should  study  thr 
political  state  of  a  country  before  its  moral  state,  the  history  of 
society  before  that  of  man — Tlie  social  state  of  Gaul  in  the  5th  cen- 
tnry — Original  monuments  and  modern  works  descriptive  of  thai 
subject — Difference  between  the  civil  and  religious  society  of  tlial 
p(!riod — Imperial  government  of  Gaul — The  provincial  governors — • 
Their  official  establishments — Their  salaries — Benefits  and  defects 
of  the  administration — Fall  of  the  Roman  empire — Gaulish  society: 
1.  The  senators  ;  2.  The  curiales  ;  3.  The  people  ;  4.  The  slavts — 
Public  relations  of  these  various  classes — Decline  and  helplessness 
of  Gaulish  civil  society — Causes  of  this — The  people  attach  them- 
selves to  the  religious  community. 

Before  entering  upon  the  history  of  French  civilization,  1 
would  engage  those  among  you  who  propose  to  make  a  seriou8 
Bludy  of  the  subject,  to  read  with  attention  one  of  the  larger 
histories  of  France,  which  may  serve,  as  it  were,  for  a  frame 
in  which  to  place  the  facts  and  ideas  we  shall  together  collect. 
For  I  do  not  propose  to  relate  to  you  the  course  of  what  are 
more  especially  called  events,  which  yet  it  is  indispensable 
for  you  to  know.  Of  all  the  histories  of  France  I  could  point 
out  to  you,  the  best,  beyond  any  question,  is  that  of  M.  de 
Sismcndi.  It  is  no  part  of  my  intention  to  enter  here  into  a 
discussion  of  the  merits  and  defects  of  that  work,  but  I  will, 
in  a  k\y  words,  indicate  to  you  what  you  will  more  peculiarly 
find  there,  and  what  I  advise  you  more  peculiarly  to  seek 
there.  Considered  as  a  critical  exposition  of  the  institutions, 
the  political  development,  the  government  of  France,  the  His- 
loire  des  Frangais  of  M.  de  Sismondi  is  incomplete,'  leaving 
in  my  opinion  something  to  be  desired.  Speaking  of  the 
volumes  already  published,  I  should  say  that  its  account  of 
the  two  epochs  most  important  for  the  political  destiny  of 
France,  the  reign  of  Charlemagne  and  that  of  St.  Louis,  is, 
pcrliaps,  among    the  feeblest   portions  of  the   work.     As  a 


'  M  (luizot  speaks  of  the  first  twelve  volumes  of  the  Paris  edition. 


30  HISTORY    OF 

history  of  intellectual  development  of  ideas,  it  is  aeficieiit,  te 
a  certain  extent,  in  deptii  of  research,  and  in  exactness  as  to 
results.  But,  as  a  narrative  of  events,  as  a  picture  of  tiu 
revolutions  and  vicissitudes  of  the  social  state,  of  the  mutual 
relations  of  the  various  classes  of  society  at  dillercnt  periods, 
of  the  progressive  formation  of  the  French  nation,  it  is  a  work 
of  the  highest  order,  a  work  whence  instruction  of  the  most 
valuable  kind  is  to  be  derived.  You  may,  perliaps,  find  occa- 
sion  to  cesire  in  it  somewhat  more  impartiality,  somewliat 
greater  freedom  of  imagination  ;  you  may,  perhaps,  detect  in 
L,  at  times,  too  much  of  the  influence  upon  the  writer's  mind 
of  coijtemporary  events  and  opinions  ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  is 
a  prodigious,  a  splendid  work,  infinitely  superior  o  all  iho«e 
wJiich  preceded  it,  and  one  which,  read  with  attention,  will 
admirably  prepare  you  for  the  studies  we  are  about  to  jjursue. 

It  is  part  of  my  plan,  whenever  we  a[)[)ruuch  a  particular 
epoch,  or  a  crisis  of  French  society,  to  point  out  to  you  tiie 
original  literary  monuments  which  are  extant  with  respect  tc 
it,  and  tiie  principal  modern  works  which  have  treated  of  the 
subject.  You  will  tluis  be  enabled  to  test  for  yourselves,  in 
the  crucible  of  your  own  studies,  the  results  whicii  I  shall 
endeavor  to  lay  before  you. 

You  will  remember  that  I  proposed  to  consider  civilization 
in  its  aggregate,  as  a  social  development,  and  as  a  moral  de- 
velopment in  the  history  of  the  mutual  relations  of  man,  and 
in  that  of  ideas  ;  I  shall  accordingly  examine  each  epoch 
unaer  this  double  aspect.  I  shall  commence  in  every  case 
with  the  study  of  the  social  state.  I  am  quite  aware  that  in 
30  doing,  I  shall  not  begin  with  the  beginning  :  the  social 
state  derives,  among  a  number  of  other  causes,  from  the 
moral  state  of  nations ;  creeds,  fijelings,  ideas,  manners,  pre- 
cede the  external  condition,  the  social  relations,  the  political 
institutions  ;  society,  saving  a  necessary  and  powerful  reac- 
tion, is  that  which  men  make  it.  Conformably  with  true 
chronology,  with  the  internal  and  moral  chronology,  wc;  ought 
to  study  man  before  society.  But  the  true  historic  order,  tlie 
order  in  which  facts  succeed  one  another,  and  reciprocally 
create  each  other,  differs  essentially  from  the  scientific  order, 
from  the  order  in  which  it  is  proper  to  study  them.  In  reality, 
facts  develope  themselves,  so  to  speak,  from  within  to  witiiout  ; 
causes  inward  produce  effects  outward.  Study,  on  the  con- 
trary— study,  science,  proceed,  and  properly  proceed,  from 
without  to  witiiin.     It  is  with  the  outward  that  its  attention  is 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  31 

first  occupiod  ;  it  is  the  outwaid  which  it  first  seizes  upoDv 
mid  following  which,  it  advances,  penetrates  on  and  on,  until 
by  degrees  it  arrives  within. 

And  here  we  come  to  the  great  question,  the  question  so 
often  and  so  well  treated,  but  not  as  yet,  perhaps,  exhausted, 
the  question  between  the  two  methods  of  analysis  and  synthe- 
sis ;  the  latter,  the  primitive  method,  the  method  of  creation; 
llio  other,  the  method  of  the  second  period,  the  scientific 
method.  If  science  desired  to  proceed  according  to  the  me- 
thod of  creation,  if  it  sought  to  take  facts  in  the  order  accord, 
ing  to  which  they  reproduce  each  other,  it  would  run  a  great 
risk,  to  say  the  least,  of  missing  the  full,  pure  source  of  things, 
of  not  embracing  the  whole  broad  principle,  of  arriving  at  only 
one  of  the  causes  whence  effects  have  sprung  ;  and  thus  in- 
volved  in  a  narrow,  tortuous,  fallacious  path,  it  Avould  wander 
more  and  more  remote  from  the  right  direction  ;  and  instead 
of  arriving  at  the  veritable  creation,  instead  of  finding  the 
facts  such  as  they  really  are,  such  as  they  really  produce  one 
the  other,  it  would  give  birth  to  mere  valueless  chimeras, 
grand,  indeed,  in  appearance,  but  in  reality,  notwithstanding 
the  amount  of  intellectual  wealth  expended  in  their  pursuit, 
utterly  frivolous  and  of  no  account. 

On  the  other  hand,  were  science,  in  proceeding  from  with- 
out to  within,  according  to  its  own  proper  method,  to  forget 
that  this  is  not  the  primitive  productive  method,  that  facts  in 
themselves  subsist  and  develope  themselves  in  another  order 
than  that  in  which  it  views  them,  it  might  in  time  also  forget 
that  it  was  preceded  by  facts,  it  might  exclude  from  its  re- 
membrance the  very  foundation  of  things,  it  might  be  dazzled 
with  itself,  it  might  fancy  that  it  was  reality  ;  and  it  would 
thus  speedily  become  a  mere  combination  of  appearances  and 
terms,  as  vain,  as  fallacious  as  the  hypothesis  and  deductions 
of  the  contrary  method. 

It  is  highly  important  not  to  lose  sight  of  this  distinction  and 
ts  consequences ;  we  shall  meet  with  them  again  more  thar. 
once  on  our  way. 

In  a  former  lecture,  on  seeking  in  the  cradle  of  European 
civilization  for  its  primitive  and  essential  elements,  I  found, 
on  the  one  side,  the  Roman  world,  on  the  other,  the  barbarians. 
In  commencing,  therefore,  in  any  quarter  of  Europe,  the 
study  of  modern  civilization,  we  must  first  investigate  the 
state  of  Roman  society  there,  at  the  moment  when  the  Roman 
empire  fell,  that  is  to  say,  about  the  close  of  the  fourth  and 


82  HISTORY    OF 

the  opening  of  the  fifth  century.  This  investigation  is  peel 
liarly  necessary  in  the  case  of  France.  The  whole  of  Gaul 
was  subject  to  the  Empire,  and  its  civih'zation,  more  espe- 
cially in  its  southern  portions,  was  thoroughly  Roman.  l\i 
the  histories  of  England  and  of  Germany,  Rome  occupies  a 
less  prominent  position  ;  Jie  civilization  of  these  countries,  in 
its  origin,  was  not  Roman,  but  Germanic  ;  it  was  not  until  o 
later  period  of  their  career  that  they  really  underwent  tiic 
iafluence  of  the  laws,  the  ideas,  the  traditions  of  Rome.  The 
case  with  our  civilization  was  difierent;  it  was  Roman  from 
its  very  outset.  It  is  characterized,  moreover,  by  this  pecu- 
liar feature,  that  it  drew  nourishment  from  both  the  sources 
of  general  European  civilization.  Gaul  was  situated  upon  the 
limits  of  the  Roman  world  and  of  the  Germanic  world.  The 
south  of  Gaul  was  essentially  Roman,  tlie  north  essentially 
Germanic.  Germanic  manners,  institutions,  influences,  pre- 
vailed  in  the  north  of  Gaul  ;  Roman  manners,  institutions,  in- 
fluences, in  the  south.  And  here  we  already  recognize  that 
distinctive  character  of  French  civilization,  which  I  endea- 
vored to  demonstrate  in  my  first  lecture,  namely,  that  it  is  the 
most  complete,  the  most  faitiiful  image  of  European  civiliza- 
tion in  the  aggregate.  The  civilization  of  England  and  of 
Germany  is  especially  Germanic  ;  that  of  Spain  and  Italy 
especially  Roman;  that  of  France  is  the  only  one  whicii  par- 
ticipates almost  equally  of  the  two  origins,  which  has  repro- 
duced, from  its  outset,  the  complexity,  the  variety  of  tho 
elements  of  modern  society. 

The  social  state  of  Gaul,  then,  towards  the  end  of  the  fourth 
and  the  commencement  of  the  fifth  century,  is  the  first  object 
of  our  studies.  Before  entering  upon  it,  I  will  mention  what 
are  the  great  original  monuments,  and  what  tlie  principal  mo- 
dern works  on  the  subject  which  I  would  advise  you  to 
consult. 

Of  the  original  monuments,  the  most  important,  beyond  all 
doubt,  is  the  Tiieodosian  code.  Montes(|uicu,  though  he  docs 
not  exactly  .say  so,  is  evidently'  of  ojiinion  that  this  code  con-^ 
stituted,  in  the  fifth  century,  the  whole  Roman  law,  the  entire 
body  of  Roman  legislation.  It  constitutes  nothing  of  the  sort. 
Tae  Theodosian  code  is  a  collection  of  the  constitutions  of  tlio 
emperors,  from  Constantine  to  Theodosius  the  younger,  and 


'  Esprit  des  Loix,  xxviii.  chap.  4 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  h2 

was  publisliod  by  tlie  latter  in  438.  Indcppndonfl}  of  these 
constitutions,  the  ancient  Senatus  Consulta,  tlie  ancient  Pie- 
biscita,  the  law  of  the  Twelve  Tables,  the  I'retorian  Edicts 
and  the  opinions  of  the  jurisconsults,  constituted  a  part  of  tlie 
Ro.:iiin  law.  Just  previously,  by  a  decree  of  Valcntiniaii 
III.  in  420,  the  opinions  of  five  of  the  great  lawyers,  Fapinian, 
Ulpian,  Paul,  Gains,  and  Modestinus,  had  expressly  been  in- 
vested with  the  force  of  law.  It  were,  however,  quite  accu- 
rate to  say  that,  in  a  practical  point  of  view,  the  Thcodosian 
code  was  the  most  important  law  book  of  the  Empire;  it  is, 
mo/eover,  the  literary  monument  which  difluscs  the  greatest 
light  over  this  period.' 

The  second  original  document  to  which  I  would  invite  your 
attention,  is  the  Nolitia  Imperii  Romani,  that  genuine  impe. 
rial  almanac  of  the  fifth  century,  giving  lists  of  all  the  func- 
tionaries of  the  empire,  and  presenting  a  complete  review  of 
the  whole  of  its  aflmiiiistration,  of  all  the  relations  between 
the  government  and  its  subjects. ^  The  Nolitia  has  been  illus- 
trated witii  the  greatest  learning  by  the  jurisconsult  Pancirolus; 
I  know  of  no  work  which  contains  so  many  remarkable  and 
curious  facts  as  to  the  interior  of  Roman  society. 

I  will  refer  you,  for  a  third  original  source,  to  the  great 
collections  of  the  acts  of  the  councils.  Of  these  there  are 
two;  the  collections  of  the  councils  held  in  Gaul,  which  were 
published  by  Ptirc  Sirmond,''  with  a  supplementary  volume 
compiled  by  Lalande,*  and  the  general  collection  of  councils 
compiled  hy  the  I'tirc  Jjahhe.' 

Of  modern  works  connected  with  the  suhject,  I  will  first 
mention  those  Frencii  productions  which  I  think  you  may 
consult  with  great  advantage. 

1.  There  is  the  Theorie  des  Lois  politiqnes  de  la  Monarchie 
Frangaise,  a  work  very  little  known,  publisiied  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  revolution.^  It  was  cotnpiled  by  a  woman, 
Mademoiselle  de  Lezardiere,  and  consists  of  very  little  more 


'  Six  vols,  folio,  avec  les  Commentaires  de  J.  Godefroy      Rittcr 
Leipsig,  1738 

'  The  best  edition  is  that  printed  in  the  7th  vol.  of  the  Thetattrut 
Anliqiiitatvm  Romannrvm  of  Gracvius. 

3  Three  vols   folio.     Paris,  1G29. 
One  vol.  folio.     Paris,  1600. 

•  Eighteen  vols,  folio.     Paris,  1672. 

•  In  1792 ;  eight  vols  8vo      Paris, 


34  HisTORV  or 

than  original  texts  legislative  and  liistorical,  illustraluiij  tiv 
condition,  tiie  manners,  the  constitutions,  of  tlie  Franks  an-J 
Gauls  from  the  third  to  tlie  ninth  century ;  but  these  texlj 
are  selected,  arranged,  and  translated  with  a  skill  and  exact- 
ness  rarely  to  be  me.  with. 

2.  You  will  permit  me  to  point  out  to  you,  in  the  second 
|)lace,  the  Essais  sur  I'Histoire  de  France  tiial  I  myself  have 
published,'  inasmuch  as  in  them  I  have  more  especially  ap- 
plied myself  to  retracing,  under  its  diflerent  aspects,  the  state 
of  society  in  Gaul,  immediately  before  and  immediately  after 
the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire. 

As  to  ecclesiastical  history,  Fleury's  appears  to  me  the 
best. 

Those  who  are  acquainted  witli  tlie  German,  will  do  well 
lo  read, 

1.  The  History  of  the  Roman  Law  in  the  Middle  Aires,  by 
I\l.  de  Savigny,"  a  work  tlie  purpose  of  which  is  to  show  that 
the  Roman  law  has  never  perished  in  Europe;,  but  is  to  be 
met  with  throughout  tiie  period  extending  from  the  fifth  to  tiie 
tliirtoenth  centuries,  in  a  multitude  of  institutions,  laws,  and 
customs.  The  moral  state  of  society  is  not  always  accu- 
rately appreciated  in  tliis  work,  nor  represented  witli  fidelity  ; 
but  as  to  facts,  its  learning  and  critical  acumen  are  of  a  supe- 
rior character. 

2.  Tlie  General  History  of  the  Christian  Church,  by  M. 
Henke  j-*  a  work  incompletely  developed,  and  which  leaves 
much  to  be  desired  in  reference  to  the  knowledge  and  appre- 
ciation of  facts,  but  learned  and  judicious  in  the  criticisms  it 
furnishes,  and  characterized  by  an  independence  of  spirit  too 
Bcldom  met  witii  in  works  of  this  nature. 

3.  The  Manual  of  Ecclesiastical  History,  of  M.  Gieseler, 
/he  latest  and  most  cotnplete,  upon  this  subject,  of  those 
iearned  summaries  so  extensively  diffused  in  Germany,  and 
which  serve  aa  guides  when  we  are  desirous  of  entering  upon 
any  particular  study. 

You  have  probably  remarked  that  I  point  out  here  two 
classes  of  works;  the  one  relating  to  civil,  the  other  to  eccle- 
siastical history.  I  do  so  for  tiiis  reason ;  tiiat  at  the  period 
ive  speak  of,   there   existed   in  the   Roman  world   two  very 


'  One  vol.  Svo.     Paris.  ^  gj^  vols.  8vo 

•  Six  vola   bvo.  4th  ed.     Brunswick,  180u 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  W 

iilTorent  societies — tlic  civil  society  and  the  religious  society. 
Tlicy  dilFercd  not  only  in  their  object,  not  only  in  that  thej 
were  governed  by  principles  and  by  institutions  entirely  dis- 
similar,  not  only  in  that  the  one  was  old  and  the  other  young  ; 
there  existed  between  them  a  diversity  far  more  profound,  far 
more  important.  The  civil  society,  to  all  outward  appear- 
ances^ set  med  Cin-istian,  equally  with  the  religious  society. 
The  great  majority  of  the  European  kings  and  nations  had 
onibraced  Christianity  ;  but,  at  Iwttom,  the  civil  society  waa 
pagan.  Its  inslituliotis,  its  laws,  its  maimers,  were  all  essen- 
tially pagan.  It  was  entirely  a  society  formed  by  paganism  ; 
not  at  all  a  society  formed  by  Cliris  ianity.  Cliristian  civil 
society  did  not  devclope  itself  fill  a  later  period,  till  after  the 
invasion  of  the  barbarians;  it  belongs,  in  point  of  time,  to 
modern  history.  In  the  fifth  century,  whatever  outward  ap- 
pearances may  say  to  the  contrary,  there  existed  between 
civil  society  and  religious  society  incoherence,  contradiction, 
contest ;  for  tlicy  were  essentially  diflerent  both  in  their  origin 
and  in  tlieir  nature. 

1  would  pray  you  never  to  lose  sight  of  this  diversity  ;  it  is 
a  diversity  which  alone  enables  us  to  comprcliend  the  real 
condition  of  the  Roman  world  at  this  period. 

What  then  was  this  civil  society,  nominally  Christian,  but 
in  reality  tlie  pagan  ? 

Let  us  first  consider  it  in  its  outward,  most  obvious  aspect^ 
in  its  government,  in  its  institutions,  its  administration. 

The  empire  of  the  west  was  divided,  in  the  fifth  century 
into  two  prefectures,  that  of  Gaul  and  that  of  Italy.  The 
prefecture  of  Gaul  comprised  three  diocesses — that  of  Gaul, 
that  of  Spain,  and  that  of  Britain.  At  the  head  of  the  pre- 
fecture was  a  pretorian-prefect ;  at  the  head  of  each  dioces3 
a  vice-prefect. 

The  pretorian-prefect  of  Gaul  resided  at  Treves.  Gaul 
was  divided  Into  seventeen  provinces,  the  affairs  of  each  of 
which  were  administered  by  a  governor  of  its  own,  under  the 
general  orders  of  the  prefect.  Of  these  provinces,  six  were 
governed  by  consulares,^  the  other  eleven  by  presidents.' 


I  Viennensig,  Lngflunenais  1 ;   Germania  Superior,  Germonia  Infe- 
rior, Belgica  1  and  2. 

*  Alpes  Mnritimre,  Alpes  Penninae,  Sequanensis  1;    Aquitanica  I 
ViA  2;  Novempopulonia,  Narbonensis  1  and  2;  Lugdunensis  2  and  3 
Lugduoensis  Senonensis. 
23 


86  HISTORY    OF.       ;   '^ 

As  to  tne  mode  of  administration,  there  existed  no  impor 
tant  distinction  between  these  two  classes  of  governors ;  tliej 
exercised  in  reality  the  same  power,  ditfering  only  in  rank 
and  title. 

In  Gaul,  as  elsewhere,  the  governors  had  two  kinds  of 
functions : 

1st.  They  were  the  emperor's  immediate  representatives, 
charged,  throughout  the  whole  extent  of  the  Empire,  with  the 
interests  of  the  central  government,  with  the  collection  of 
taxes,  with  the  management  of  the  public  domains,  the  direc- 
tion of  the  imperial  posts,  the  levy  and  regulation  of  the  armies 
— in  a  word,  with  the  fulfilment  of  all  the  relations  between 
the  eniperor  and  his  subjects. 

2d.  They  had  the  administration  of  justice  between  the 
subjects  themselves.  The  whole  civil  and  criminal  jurisdic- 
tion was  in  their  hands,  with  two  exceptions.  Certain  towns 
of  Gaul  possessed  what  was  called  jus  Jlalicum — the  Italian 
law.  In  the  municipia  of  Italy,  the  right  of  administering 
justice  to  the  citizens,  at  least  in  civil  mutters  and  in  tiio  first 
instance,  appertained  to  certain  municipal  magistrates,  Duum- 
viri, Quatuorviri,  Quinqueiwalcs,  JEdiles,  Pralores,  SfC.  It 
has  been  often  stated  that  the  case  was  the  same  out  of  Italy, 
in  all  the  provinces  as  a  rule,  but  this  is  a  mistake :  it  vyas 
only  in  a  limited  number  of  tiiese  towns  assimilated  to  the 
Italian  municipia,  that  the  municipal  magistrates  exercised 
any  real  jurisdiction  ;  and  this  in  every  instance  subject  to 
an  appeal  to  the  governor. 

There  was  also,  subsequent  to  the  middle  of  the  fourth 
century,  in  almost  all  the  towns,  a  special  magistrate,  called 
defensor,  elected  not  merely  by  the  curia  or  municipal  body 
but  by  the  population  at  large,  whose  duty  it  was  to  defenu 
the  interests  of  the  people,  even  against  the  governor  himself, 
if  need  were.  The  defensor  exercised  in  such  matters  the 
jurisdiction  in  the  first  instance;  he  also  acted  as  judge  in 
that  class  of  cases,  which  we  now  term  police  cases. 

With  these  two  exceptions,  the  governors  alone  adjudicated 
all  suits  ;  and  there  was  no  appeal  from  them  except  direct 
to  the  emperor. 

This  jurisdiction  of  theirs  was  exercised  in  the  following 
manner : — In  the  first  ages  of  the  Empire,  conformably  with 
ancient  custom,  he  to  whom  the  jurisdiction  appertained, 
prsetor  provincial  governor,  or  municipal  magistrate,  on  a 
oase  bemg  submitted  to  him,  merely  determined  the  rule  of 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCB.  81 

.aw,  fhe  legal  principle  according  to  which  it  ought  lo  be 
adjudged.  He  decided,  that  is  to  say,  the  question  of  law 
involved  in  the  case,  and  tlien  appointed  a  private  citizen, 
called  the  judex,  the  veritable  juror,  to  examine  and  decide 
upon  the  question  of  fact.  The  legal  principle  laid  down  by 
the  magistrate  was  applied  to  the  fact  found  by  the  judex, 
ind  so  the  case  was  determined. 

By  degrees,  in  proportion  as  imperial  despotism  established 
it^'elf,  and  the  ancient  liberties  of  the  people  disaf;t>eared,  the 
intervention  of  ihr  judex  became  less  regular.  The  magis- 
trates decided,  witliout  any  reference  to  this  oflicer,  certain 
matters  which  were  called  extraordinariae.  cognitiones.  Dio- 
cletian formally  abolisiied  the  institution  in  the  provinces  ;  it 
no  longer  appeared  but  as  an  exception  ;  and  Justinian  testi- 
fies, that  in  his  time  it  had  fallen  completely  into  desuetude. 
The  entire  jurisdiction  in  all  cases  then  appertained  to  the 
governors — agents  and  representatives  of  the  emperor  in  all 
things,  and  masters  of  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  the  citizens, 
with  no  appeal  from  their  judgments  but  to  the  emperor  in 
person. 

In  order  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  extent  of  their  power, 
and  of  the  manner  in  which  it  was  exercised,  I  have  drawn 
up  from  the  Notitia  Ltiperif  Romani — a  list  of  the  officers 
of  a  provincial  governor;  a  list  exactly  similar  to  that  which 
we  might  at  the  present  day  derive  from  the  Almnnnch  Royal, 
of  tlie  official  establishment  of  a  government  office,  or  a  pre- 
fecture. They  arc  the  officers  of  the  pretorian  prefect  whom 
I  am  about  to  introduce  to  you,  but  the  governors  subordinate 
to  the  pretorian  prefect,  the  consulares,  correctores,  prce- 
sides,  exercised,  under  his  superintendence,  the  same  powera 
with  himself;  and  their  establishments  were  almost  entirely 
the  same  as  his,  only  on  a  smaller  scale. 

The  principal  officers  of  a  pr?Etorian  prefect  were  : 

1.  Princeps,  or  primiscrinius  officii.  He  cited  before 
the  tribunal  of  the  prefect  those  who  had  business  there :  he 
drew  up  the  judgments  :  it  was  upon  his  order  that  accused 
persons  were  taken  into  custody.  His  principal  business, 
however,  was  the  collection  of  taxes.  He  enjoyed  various 
privileges. 

2.  Comicularixts. — He  made  public  the  ordinances,  edicts, 
and  judgments  of  the  governor.  His  post  was  one  of  very 
great  antiquit}.  ;  the  tribunes  of  the  people  had  their  comicu- 
kirius  {Ya.\.    Maximus,  I.j  vi.  c.    11).     He  was  so  entitlpd 


88  HISTORY    OF 

because  he  carried  with  him,  as  a  distinctive  badge,  a  hoiil, 
of  which  he  made  use,  in  all  probability,  to  impose  silence  on 
the  crowd  when  he  was  about  to  perform  his  official  duty. 
The  prcEco,  or  herald,  was  under  his  direction,  and  he  had  a 
large  establishment  of  clerks.  Flis  period  of  office  was  only 
a  year.     lie  was  a  species  of  recorder. 

3.  Adjulor,  a  supplementary  officer,  whose  services  appeal 
to  have  been  due  to  all  the  other  functionaries,  when  re- 
qiiired  ;  his  specific  business  was  to  arrest  accused  persons,  to 
superintend  the  infliction  of  the  torture,  &c.  He  had  an  office 
of  his  own. 

4.  Conmientanensis,  the  director  of  prisons,  an  officer 
higher  in  rank  than  our  jailers,  but  having  the  same  func- 
tions ;  he  had  the  internal  regulation  of  the  prisons,  conducted 
the  prisoners  before  the  tribunals,  furnished  them  with  pro- 
visions  when  they  were  destitute,  had  the  torture  administered 
to  them,  &c. 

5.  Actuaru  vel  ah  actis. — Thepe  officers  drew  up  contracts 
for  the  citizens,  and  all  such  deeds  as  the  law  required  to  bcu! 
a  legal  character,  such  as  wills,  grants,  &c.  They  were  the 
predecessorsof  our  notaries.  As  the  ac/wam  attached  to  the 
office  of  the  pretorian  prefect  or  of  the  praeses,  could  not  be 
everywhere,  the  decemvirs  and  other  jnunicipal  magistrates 
were  authorized  to  act  as  their  deputies. 

6.  Nujuerarii. — These  were  the  keepers  of  the  accounts. 
The  ordinary  governors  had  two,  called  lahularii ;  the  prte- 
torian  prefects  four: — 1.  The  Numerarius  Bonoriim,  who 
kept  an  account  of  the  funds  appertaining  to  the  exchequer, 
the  revenues  of  which  went  to  the  comes  rerum  prhatarum  ; 
2.  The  numerarius  trihutorum,  who  was  entrusted  with 
the  accounts  of  the  public  revenues  which  went  to  the 
cerarium,  and  to  the  account  of  the  sacred  donatives;  3.  The 
numerarius  auri,  who  received  the  gold  drawn  from  the 
provinces,  had  the  silver  money  he  received  changed  into 
gold,  and  kept  the  accounts  of  the  gold  mines  within  his 
district ;  4.  The  numerarius  operum  publicorum,  who  kepi 
ihe  accounts  of  the  various  public  works,  such  as  forts,  walls, 
aqueducts,  baths,  &c.,  all  of  which  were  maintained  by  a 
I  bird  of  the  revenues  of  the  cities,  and  by  a  land  tax  levied  on 
and  according  fo  occasion.  These  numerarii  had  under  theii 
orders  a  large  body  of  clerks. 

7.  Sub-adjuva  ;  an  assistant  to  the  adjutor. 

8.  Curator  Epislolarum. — This  was  the  secretary  who  had 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  39 

ir^aige  of  tlie  correspondence  ;   he  had  a  number  of  subordi 
nates,  called  epistolares, 

9.  Regcrendarius. — The  officer  charged  to  transmit  to  the 
prefect  tlie  petitions  of  the  subject,  and  to  write  the  answers. 

10.  Exceplores. — They  wrote  out  all  the  documents  re- 
lating to  the  judgments  given  by  the  prefects,  and  read  thero 
liefore  his  tribunal  ;  they  were  under  the  direction  oC  a  primi- 
cerius.     They  may  be  assimilated  to  our  registrars. 

11.  S/ngu/arii,  or  Singulares,  Ducciiarii,  Cenlenarii,  (^-c— 
Ollicors  commanding  n  sort  of  military  police  attached  to  the 
service  of  the  provincial  governors.  Tlie  singulares  attended 
these  functionaries  as  a  (*uard,  executed  their  orders  in  'he 
province,  arrested  accused  parties,  and  conducted  them  to 
prison.  They  acted  as  collectors  of  the  taxes  ;  the  office  of 
the  ducenarii  (captains  of  two  hundred  tnen,  or  cohortales),  of 
the  cenlenarii,  the  sexagenarii,  was  the  same. 

12.  Primiliims. — The  chief  officer  of  these  coho r tales  ;  it 
was  his  especial  charge  to  superintend  the  distribution  of  pro. 
visions  to  the  soldiers,  in  the  name  of  the  pretorian  prefect, 
and  to  inspect  the  provisions  previous  to  delivery. 

It  is  obvious  that  only  the  more  prominent  employments 
are  indicated  here,  and  that  these  officers  must  have  had  a 
great  many  others  under  their  direction.  In  the  ofTices  of  the 
praetor  of  Africa,  there  were  398  persons  employed,  in  those 
of  the  count  of  the  East,  GOO.  Independently  of  their  number, 
you  perceive,  from  the  nature  of  their  functions,  that  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  provincial  governors  comprehended  all 
things,  all  classes,  that  the  whole  society  had  to  do  with  them, 
and  they  with  the  whole  of  society. 

I  will  now  direct  your  attention,  for  a  moment,  to  the 
salaries  which  these  officers  received  ;  you  may  derive  from 
this  information  some  rather  curious  illustrations  of  the  social 
state  of  the  period. 

Under  Alexander  Severus,  according  to  a  passage  in  his 
biographer  Lampridius,'  the  governors  of  a  province  received 
twenty  pounds  of  silver  and  one  hundred  pieces  of  gold,"  six 
pitchers  (phialas)  of  wine,  two  mules,  and  two  horses,  two 
Blate  suits  (vestes  forenses),  and  one  ordinary  suit  (vested 
domesticas),  a  bathing  tub,  a  cook,  a  muleteer,  and  lastly  (I 
have  to  solicit  your  pardon  for  this  detail,  but  it  is  too  charac- 


»  Chap,  xlii  '  About  150/. 


40  HISTOHY   OF 

teristio  to  be  omitted);  ■  when  they  were  not  married,  a  con 
cubine,  quod  sine  his  esse  non  possent,  says  the  text.  Whet 
they  quitted  office,  they  were  obliged  to  return  the  mules,  the 
horses,  the  muleteer,  and  the  cook.  If  the  emperor  was 
satisfied  with  their  admmistration,  they  were  allowed  to  retair 
the  other  gifts  he  had  bestowed  upon  them  ;  if  he  was  dissatis- 
fied,  they  were  cofiipelled  to  give  him  four  times  the  value 
of  what  they  had  received.  Under  Constantine,  the  part  pay. 
ment  in  goods  still  subsisted;  we  find  the  governors  of  twc 
great  provinces,  Asiana  and  Pontus,  receiving  an  allowance 
of  oil  for  four  lamps.  It  was  not  until  the  reign  of  Theodo- 
sius  II.,  in  the  first  half  of  the  fifth  century,  that  this  mode 
of  paying  the  governors  was  altogether  discontinued.  The 
subordinate  employes,  however,  continued,  down  to  the  time 
of  Justinian,  to  receive  in  the  eastern  empire  a  portion  of 
their  salaries  in  provisions  and  other  goods.  I  dwell  upon 
this  circumstance  because  it  furnishes  a  striking  idea  of  the 
inactive  state  of  commercial  relations,  and  of  the  imperfect 
circulating  medium  of  the  Empire. 

The  facts  I  have  stated,  which  are  perfectly  clear,  make 
equally  evident  the  nature  of  the  government  under  our  con- 
sideration ;  an  utter  absence  of  independence  on  the  part  of 
the  various  functionaries ;  all  of  them  subordinate  one  to  the 
other,  up  to  the  emperor,  who  absolutely  disposes  and  decides 
the  fate  of  them  all.  No  appeal  for  the  subject  from  the 
functionary,  but  to  the  em|)cror ;  nothing  like  co-ordinate, 
co-equal  powers,  destined  to  control  and  limit  one  another,  is 
to  be  met  with.  All  proceeds  straight  upwards  or  down- 
wards, on  the  princi[)le  of  a  sole,  strict  hierarchy.  It  is  a 
pure,  unmitigated,  administrative  despotism. 

Do  not,  however,  conclude  from  what  I  have  stated,  that 
this  system  of  government,  this  administrative  machinery,  was 
instituted  for  the  sole  behoof  of  absolute  power,  that  it  never 
aimed  at  or  produced  any  other  effect  than  that  of  promoting 
the  views  of  despotism.  In  order  to  appreciate  the  mattei 
fairly,  we  must  present  to  our  minds  a  just  idea  of  the  state 
of  the  provinces,  and  more  especially  of  Gaul,  at  the  moment 
preceding  that  when  the  empire  took  the  place  of  the  republic. 
There  were  two  powers  in  authority,  that  of  the  Roman  pro- 
consul, sent  to  administer,  for  a  temporary  period,  such  or  such 
a  province,  and  that  of  the  old  national  chiefs,  the  go-  crnors 
whom  the  country  obeyed  before  it  passed  under  the  Roman 
voke.     These  two  powers  were,  upon  the  whole,  more  iniqui 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE  41 

;ous,  in  my  opinion,  and  more  noxious  in  their  operation,  than 
the  imperial    administration  which   superseded  them.     I  can 
conceive  no  affliction  more  fearful  for  a  province  than  the  go- 
vornmont  of  a   Roman   proconsul,  a  greedy   tyrant,  coming 
there  for  a  greater  or  less  period,  in  the  sole  view  of  making 
his  fortune,  and  giving  unchecked  way  for  a  time  to  all   the 
I'npulscs  of  grasping  self-interest,  to  all  the  caprices  of  abso. 
jute  power.     1  do  not  mean  to  say  that  these  proconsuls  were 
every  one  a  Verres  or  a  Piso,  but  the  great  crimes  of  a  period 
enable  us  in  iheir  history  to  estimate  the  measure  of  iniquity 
in  that  period  ;  and  if  it  required  a  Verres  to  arouse  the  in- 
dignation of  Rome,  we  may  fairly  judge  haw  far  a  proconsul 
mij^ht   go,  so  that  he  kept  within  the  limits  outstepped  by  the 
ni0i"c  daring  monster  denounced  by  Cicero.     As  to  the  ancient 
chiefs  of  tlie  country,  theirs  was,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  govern- 
ment altogether  irregular,  oppressive,  barbarous.      The  civili- 
zation of  Giaul,  when  it  was  conquered   by  the  Romans,  was 
very  inferior  to  that  of  Rome  :  the   two   powers  which  held 
sway  there  were,  on   the   one   hand,  that  of  the  priests,   the 
Druids  ;  on  tlie  other,  that  of  the  chiefs,  whom  we  may  assi- 
milate with  the  more  modern   chiefs  of  clans.     The  ancient 
social  organization  of  the  country  part  of  Gaul   had,  in  point 
of  fact,  a  close  resemblance  to  that  of  Ireland  or  of  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland   in   later   times  ;    the  population  clustered 
round  the  more  considerable  personages,  round  the  great  landed 
proprietors  :  Vercingetorix,  for  example,  was  probably  a  chief 
of  this  description,  the  leader  of  a  multitude  of  peasantry  and 
of  petty  landholders  connected  by  personal  considerations  with 
nis  domains,  with  his  family,  with  his  interests.     This  system 
may  doubtless  give  birtli  to  lofty  and   honorable  sentiments, 
it   may   inspire  those   who  live   under    it   with    powerfully 
marked    habits  and  associations,  with    strong  mutual   attach- 
ments ;   but  it  is,  on  the  whole,  far  from  favorable  to  the  pro- 
gress of  civilization.     There  is  nothing  regular,  nothing  com- 
prehensive  in  it ;  the  ruder  passions  have  full  and  unchecked 
sw  ay  ;  private  warfare  is  incessant ;  manners   make  no  ad- 
\  ance  ;  the  decision  of  all  questions  is  entirely  a  matter  of 
iniHvidual  or  local  interest;  every  feature  in  the  system  is  an 
obstacle  to  the  increase  of  prosperity,  to  the  extension  of  ideas, 
to  the   rich   and   rapid  development  of  man  and  of  society. 
When  therefore  the  imperial  administration  came  into  opera, 
tion   in  Gaul,  however   bitter  may  have  been  the  resentrnen 
fcnd  regret  which  naturally  filled  patriotic  minds,  we  can  en 


12  HISTORY    OF 

tertaia  no  doubt  that  it  was  more  enlightened,  more  irnpurtiai. 
more  guided  by  general  views  and  by  considerations  of  really 
public  interests,  than  the  old  national  government  had  been. 
It  was  neither  mixed  up  with  jealousies  of  family,  city,  or 
tribe,  nor  fettered  to  savage  and  stagnant  ideas  and  mannera 
by  prejudices  of  religion  or  birth.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
new  governors,  invested  with  more  permanent  functions,  con- 
trolled, up  to  a  certain  point,  by  the  imperial  authority,  were 
less  grasping,  less  violent,  less  oppressive  than  the  proconsuls 
of  the  senate  had  been.  We  accordingly  observe  with  the 
progress  of  the  first,  second,  and  even  the  third  centuries,  a 
progress  in  the  prosperity  and  civilization  of  Gaul.  The  town.s 
grew  rich,  and  extended  themselves  ;  tlie  freemen  became 
more  and  more  numerous.  It  had  been,  amongst  the  ancient 
Gauls,  a  custom,  or  rather  a  necessity,  for  the  individual  free- 
men to  place  tliemselves  under  the  protection  of  some  great 
man,  to  enrol  themselves  under  the  banner  of  a  patron,  as  the 
only  mo<]e  of  elFecting  security  for  themselves.  Tliis  cus- 
tom, without  entirely  disajjpcaring,  abated  in  the  first  ages  of 
imperial  administration  ;  tiie  freemen  assumed  a  more  inde- 
pendent existence,  which  proves  tiiat  tiieir  existence  was  belter 
secured  by  the  general  operation  of  the  laws,  by  the  public 
power.  There  was  greater  equality  introduced  among  the 
various  classes,  none  of  whom  were  now  arbitrarily  excluded 
from  the  attainment  of  fortune  and  power.  Manners  were 
softened,  ideas  expanded,  the  country  became  covered  with 
roads  and  buildings.  Everything  indicated  a  society  in  course 
of  development,  a  civilization  in  progress. 

But  the  benefits  of  despotism  are  shortlived  ;  it  poisons  the 
very  springs  which  it  lays  open.  If  it  display  a  merit,  it  is 
an  exceptional  one  ;  if  a  virtue,  it  is  created  of  circumstances  ; 
and  once  this  better  hour  has  passed  away,  all  the  vices  of 
its  nature  break  forth  with  redoubled  violence,  and  weigh 
down  society  in  every  direction. 

In  proportion  as  the  Empire,  or  more  properly  speaking,  the 
power  of  the  emperor,  grew  weaker,  in  proportion  as  it  found 
itself  a  prey  to  external  and  internal  dangers,  its  wants  grew 
greater  and  more  urgent ;  it  required  more  money,  more  men, 
more  means  of  action  of  every  description  ;  it  demanded  more 
and  more  at  the  hands  of  the  subject  nations,  and  at  the  same 
lime  dii  less  and  less  for  them  in  return  The  larger  rein- 
forcements of  troops  were  sent  to  the  frontiers  to  resist  the 
barbarians,  the    fewer  of  course   remained   lo  maintain  ordei 


CIVlLIZAT10^f    IN    FRANCE.  43 

in  tlio  interior.  The  more  money  there  was  spent  at  Constan- 
tinople or  at  Rome  to  purchase  the  services  of  auxiliaries,  or 
10  bribe  dangerous  courtiers,  the  less  had  the  emperor  to  ex- 
pend upon  the  due  administration  of  the  provinces.  Despot 
ipni  thus  found  itself  at  once  more  exacting  and  more  feeble, 
nccossifafcd  to  take  more  from  the  people,  and  incapable  of 
protecting  for  them  the  little  it  left  them.  This  double  evil 
had  fully  developed  itself  at  the  close  of  tlie  fourth  century. 
Nol  only  at  this  epoch  had  all  social  progress  ceased,  but  a 
retrograde  movement  was  sensibly  felt;  the  empire  was  in- 
vadcd  in  every  direction,  and  its  interior  swept  and  devastated 
by  bodies  of  barbarians  ;  the  population  fell  off,  more  espe- 
cially in  the  provinces  ;  in  the  towns,  all  public  works  were 
put  a  stop  to,  all  embellishments  suspended  ;  the  freemen 
r;jice  more  went  in  crowds  to  solicit  the  protection  of  sonio 
powerful  chief.  Such  are  the  incessant  complaints  of  tne 
Gaulish  writers  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries,  of  Salvienus, 
for  example,  in  his  wo'k  Ve  Gubernatione  Dei,  perhaps  the 
most  vivid  and  most  interesting  picture  that  we  have  of  the 
period.  In  a  word,  in  every  direction  we  see  manifesting 
themselves  unequivocal  symptoms  of  the  decline  of  the  go- 
vernment,  of  the  desolation  of  the  land. 

At  length  the  evil  grew  so  great,  that  the  Roman  empire 
found  itself  unable  to  go  on  ;  it  began  by  recalling  its  troops  ; 
it  said  to  the  provinces,  to  Britain,  to  Gaul  :  "  I  can  no  longer 
defend  you  :  you  must  take  care  of  yourselves."  Ere  long 
it  ceased  to  govern  them,  as  it  had  ceased  to  protect  them  : 
its  administrative  officers  withdrew  as  its  armies  had  done. 
This  was  the  fact  which  was  accomplished  in  the  middle  of 
the  fifth  century.  The  Roman  empire  fell  back  in  every 
direction,  and  abandoned,  either  to  the  barbarians  or  to  them- 
selves, the  provinces  which  it  had  taken  so  much  pains  to 
conquer. 

What,  more  especially  in  Gaul,  was  the  society  thus  left  to 
Itself,  thus  compelled  to  provide  for  itself?  How  was  it  con- 
etiluted  1  What  means,  what  strength  had  it  with  which  to 
protect  itself? 

Four  classes  of  persons,  four  different  social  conditions 
existed  at  this  period  in  Gaul.  1.  The  senators;  2.  the 
cunales  ;  3.  the  people,  properly  so  called  ;   4.  the  slaves. 

The  distinct  existence  of  the  senatorial  families  is  attested 
by  all  the  monuments  of  the  period.  We  meet  with  the 
designation  at  every  step,  in  the  legislative  documents,  and  in 


14  HISTOEY    OF 

the  historians.  Did  it  indicate  families  whose  members  be 
longed, or  had  belonged  to  the  Roman  senate,  or  did  it  merely 
refer  to  the  municipal  senators  of  the  Gaulish  towns?  This 
is  a  legitimate  question,  since  the  senate  of  each  town,  the 
municipal  body  known  under  the  name  of  curia,  often  also 
called  itself  senate. 

There  can  be  little  doubt,  I  think,  that  it  meant  families 
which  had  belonged  to  the  Roman  senate.  The  emperors, 
who  filled  up  that  senate  just  as  they  pleased,  used  to  recruit 
it  from  the  provinces  with  members  of  the  most  distinguished 
families  in  the  principal  cities.  Those  who  had  occupied  high 
local  offices,  who  had  acted,  for  instance,  as  provincial  gover- 
nors, were  entitled  to  expect  a  seat  in  the  Roman  senate  ;  at 
a  later  period,  the  same  favor  was  granted  to  persons  who 
had  been  nominated  to  certain  honorary  charges ;  and  ulti- 
mately the  possession  of  a  mere  title,  tliat  of  clarissmus, 
which  was  conferred  in  the  same  way  that  the  title  of  baron 
or  count  is  now,  was  sufficient  to  give  its  holder  a  seat  in  the 
senate. 

This  quality  gave  certain  privileges  which  raised  the 
tenators  to  a  position  superior  to  tliat  of  the  other  citizens. 
1,  the  title  itself;  2,  the  right  to  be  tried  by  a  special  tribunal : 
when  a  senator  had  to  be  tried  for  a  capital  offence,  the  ma- 
gistrate was  obliged  to  associate  with  himself  five  assessors, 
drawn  by  lot ;  3,  exemption  from  torture ;  4,  exemption  from 
filling  municipal  offices,  which  at  this  time  had  become  a  very 
serious  burden. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  the  senatorial  families.  It  were, 
perhaps,  extravagant  to  say  that  they  formed  a  class  of  citi- 
zens essentially  distinct  from  the  rest,  for  the  senators  were 
taken  from  all  classes  of  the  population  ;  we  find  even  freed- 
men  among  them — and  the  emperor  could  at  any  time  deprive 
them,  or  any  of  them,  of  the  privileges  he  had  conferred. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  as  these  privileges  were  real  and  sub- 
stantial, and  moreover  hereditary,  at  least  in  reference  to 
children  born  after  the  elevation  of  the  father  to  the  senatorial 
dignity,  we  may  fairly  point  to  them  as  creating  an  essential 
distinction  in  social  relations,  as  manifesting  the  principle,  ol 
at  all  events,  the  very  decided  appearance  of  a  political  aris- 
tocracy. 

The  second  class  of  citizens  was  that  of  the  curiales  oi 
decuriones,  men  of  easy  circumstances,  members,  not  of  the 
Ronjan  senate,   but  of  tne  curia  or  municipal   body  of  their 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


45 


own  city .  1  have,  in  my  Essai  sur  VHisloire  de  France,  drawn 
up  a  summary  of  laws  and  facts  relative  to  the  curialcs;  and 
in  order  to  give  an  exact  picture  of  their  condition,  I  will,  with 
your  permission,  introduce  this  summary  here  : 

The  class  of  curiales  comprised  all  such  inhabitants  of 
towns,  whether  natives  {mtmicipes)  or  settlers  {inco/a),  as 
possessed  landed  property  to  the  extent  of  not  less  than 
(wonty-five  acres  (jngera),  and  were  not  included  in  any 
way    among    the     privileged    persons    exempt     from    curial 

functions. 

Persons  belonged  to  this  class  either  by  origin  >r  by  nomi- 
nation. J  ,         J 

Every  son  of  a  curialis  was  himself  a  cunalis,  and  bound 
to  fulfd  all  the  duties  inherent  in  that  quality. 

Eycry  inhabitant  of  a  town,  trader  or  otherwise,  who  ac- 
quired  landed  property  to  the  extent  of  twenty-five  acres  and 
upwards,  was  liable  to  bo  claimed  by  the  curm,  and  could  not 

refuse  to  join  it.  ,       ,      i      .  . 

No  cunalis  was  allowed  by  any  personal  and  voluntary  act 
to  relinquish  his  condition.  Thev  were  prohibited  from  living 
iu  the  country,  from  entering  the  army,  from  accepting 
offices  which  would  relieve  them  from  municipal  functions, 
until  they  had  exercised  all  these  functions,  from  that  ol  sim- 
nle  member  of  the  curia  up  to  that  of  first  magistrate  of  the 
city.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  were  they  pennitted  to  be- 
come  soldiers,  puhlio  functionaries,  and  senators.  1  he  chil. 
drcii  born  to  them  before  their  elevation  remained  in  thcclnsa 
of  curialcs.  ^  ,        .i       . 

They  were  not  allowed  to  become  priests  unless  they  trans- 
ferred  their  property  to  some  one  who  was  willing  to  become 
a  curialis  in  their  place,  or  to  the  curia  itself. 

The  curiales  were  constantly  endeavoring  to  relinquish 
their  condition,  and  we  accordingly  find  a  multitude  of  laws 
prescribintr  the  rigorous  pursuit  of  all  such  as  had  fled,  or 
surreptitiously  entered  the  army,  or  the  order  of  priests,  or  the 
senate,  or  into  public  functions,  and  ordering  them,  when  dis. 
covered,  to  be  compelled  to  return  to  their  curia. 

The  functions  and  duties  of  the  curiales  thus  forcibly  con- 
fined within  tlicir  curia,  were  as  follow  : — 

1.  To  administer  the  affairs  of  the  municipium,  its  revenue 
aiV^its  expenditure,  either  deliberatively  as  a  private  membei 
of  the  curia,  or  executively  as  a  municipal  magistrate.  In 
this  double  situation,  the  curiales  were  not  only  responsible 


16  HISTOBY    OF 

for  their  own  individual  conduct,  but  they  were  called  upon  tc 
provide  for  the  wants  of  tiie  town  out  of  their  own  means,  ii 
the  civic  revenue  was  insufBcient. 

2.  To  collect  tlie  public  taxes.  Here  also  tliey  were  lhem> 
selves  responsible  if  they  failed  to  levy  the  full  amount  im- 
posed. Any  lands  subject  to  the  land-tax  which  were  aban- 
doned  by  their  possessors  reverted  to  the  curia,  who  were 
bound  to  pay  the  tax  in  respect  of  them,  until  some  one  was 
found  who  was  willing  to  take  tiie  land  and  its'jabilities  upon 
himself.  If  no  such  person  appeared,  the  tax  contiimed  to  be 
made  up  amongst  the  other  proprietors. 

3.  No  curialis  could  sell,  without  the  permission  of  I  .e 
provincial  governor,  tlic  property  in  respect  of  which  he  was 
a  curialis. 

4.  Heirs  of  curiales,  not  themselves  members  of  the  curia, 
and  the  widow  or  inheriting  daughter  of  a  curialis  who  mar- 
ried  a  man  not  a  curialis,  were  obliged  to  resign  a  fourth  of 
their  property  to  the  curia. 

5.  Curiales  willioul  children  could  only  dispose  by  will  of 
a  fourth  of  their  property.  The  other  three-fourths  went  to 
the  curia. 

6.  Tiiey  were  not  allowed  to  absent  themselves  from  the 
municipium,  even  for  a  limited  time,  without  the  permission 
of  the  provincial  governor. 

7.  If  they  quitted  their  curia  without  such  permission,  and 
could  not,  after  a  certain  interval,  be  found,  their  property 
was  confiscated  for  the  benefit  of  the  curia. 

8.  The  burden  of  the  impost  designated  Aurum  Corona- 
Hum,  whicii  was  a  tribute  paid  to  the  prince  on  certain  solemn 
occasions,  fell  solely  upon  the  curiales. 

By  way  of  compensating  the  curiales  for  these  heavy  in- 
cumbrances, they  were: — 

1.  Exempt  from  the  torture,  except  in  very  grave  cases. 

2.  Exempt  from  certain  corporeal  and  ignominious  punish, 
ments,  which  were  reserved  for  the  lower  classes. 

3.  After  having  gone  through  the  whole  scries  of  murjici- 
pal  offjces,  those  who  had  managed  to  escape  the  ruinous  risks 
which  had  presented  themselves  at  every  stage  of  theft-  pro- 
gross,  were  exempt  from  serving  any  nmnicipal  oflice  for  th« 
future,  enjoyed  certain  honors,  and  not  unfrequently  received 
the  title  oi  comes. 

4.  Decayed  decuriones  were  maintained  at  the  expense  oJ 
the  town. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  47 

I  need  not  point  out  to  you  liow  hard  and  opfirrssire  this 
soiulition  was — into  what  a  state  it  necessarily  tended  to  re- 
duce the  burgher  class  in  all  tlie  towns.  VVe  accordingly 
find  every  indication  that  this,  class  became,  day  after  day, 
less  numerous.  There  are  no  documents  from  which  we  can 
form  any  satisfactory  idea  of  tlie  number  of  curiales.  A  list 
of  the  members  of  each  cvi  r\n,  a /burn  curicP.,  was,  indeed,  drawn 
up  every  year;  but  these  lists  have  disappeared.  M.  de 
Savigny  cites  one,  after  Fabretti,  the  album  of  Canusium 
(Canosa),  a  small  town  of  Italy.  It  is  ^or  the  year  223,  and 
sets  down  the  number  of  the  curiales  of  tnat  town  at  a  hundred 
and  forty-eight.  Judging  from  their  extent  ^nd  comparative 
imporlcince,  the  larger  towns  of  Gaul,  Aries,  Narbonne,  Tou- 
louse, Lyons,  Nismes,  had  far  more  than  this  number.  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  indeed,  that  such  was  the  case  in  the  earlier 
periods ;  but  as  I  have  said,  the  curiales  became  constantly 
fewer  and  finvcr,  and  at  the  epoch  on  wliich  we  arc  now 
engaged,  there  were  scarcely  more  than  a  hundred  of  them  in 
the  very  largest  cities. 

The  third  class  of  the  Gaulish  commum'ty  consisted  of  the 
people,  especially  so  called — the  pkhs.  This  class  compre- 
hended, on  the  one  hand,  the  petty  landholders,  whose  pro- 
perty was  not  suflicient  to  qualify  them  for  the  curia  ;  on  the 
other,  the  small  tradespeople  and  the  free  artisans.  I  have 
no  observations  to  make  with  reference  to  the  petty  landholders 
in  this  class  ;  they  were  probably  very  few  in  number ;  but 
willi  reference  to  the  free  artisans,  it  is  necessary  to  enter 
into  some  explanations. 

You  are  all  aware  that  under  the  republic  and  in  the  earlier 
years  of  the  empire,  operative  industry  was  a  domestic  pro- 
fession, carried  on  by  the  slaves  for  the  benefit  of  their  mas- 
ters. Every  proprietor  of  slaves  had  whatever  mechanical 
production  he  required  manufactured  in  his  own  house  j  he 
had  slave-blacksmiths,  slave-shoemakers,  slave-carpenters, 
slave-ironworkers,  &c.  And  he  not  only  employed  them  in 
making  things  for  himself,  but  he  sold  the  products  of  their 
industry  to  freemen,  his  clients  and  others,  who  liad  no  slaves 
of  their  own. 

By  one  of  those  revolutions  which  work  on  slowly  and  un- 
seen until  they  become  accomplished  and  manifest  at  a  parti- 
cular epoch,  whose  course  we  have  not  followed,  and  whose 
origin  we  never  trace  back,  it  happened  that  industry  threw 
off  the  domestic  menial  character  it  had  so  long  worn,  and  tha' 


19  HISTORY  or 

instead  of  slave  artisans,  the  world  saw  free  artisans,  who 
worked,  not  for  a  master,  but  for  the  public,  and  for  their 
own  profit  and  benefit.  This  was  an  immense  change  in  the 
state  of  society,  a  change  pregnant  with  incalculable  results. 
When  and  liow  it  was  operated  in  the  Roman  world,  I  know 
not,  nor  has  anyone  else,  I  believe,  identified  its  precise  date  ; 
but  at  the  period  we  are  now  considering,  at  the  commence- 
rneni  of  the  fifth  century,  it  was  in  full  action  ;  there  were  in 
all  the  larue  towns  of  Gaul  a  numerous  class  of  free  artisans, 
already  erected  into  corporations,  into  bodies  formally  repre- 
scnted  by  some  of  their  own  members.  The  majority  of  these 
trade-corporations,  the  origin  of  which  is  usually  assigned 
to  the  middle  ages,  may  readily  be  traced  back,  more  espe- 
cially  in  the  soutli  of  Gaul  and  in  Italy,  to  the  Roman  world. 
Ever  since  the  fifth  century,  we  come  upon  indications  of 
them,  more  or  less  direct,  at  every  epoch  of  liistory  ;  already, 
at  that  period,  they  constituted  in  many  towns  one  of  the 
principal,  one  of  the  most  important  portions  of  the  popular 
coirnnuuily. 

The  fourth  class  was  that  of  slaves;  of  these  there  were 
two  kinds.  We  are  too  much  in  the  habit  of  attaching  to  the 
word  slave,  one  bare  single  idea, — of  connecting  with  the  term 
one  sole  condition  ;  this  is  an  entire  misconception.  We  must 
carefully  distinguish,  at  the  period  now  under  our  considera- 
tion, between  the  domestic  slaves  and  the  predial  or  rural 
slaves.  As  to  the  former,  their  condition  was  everywhere 
very  nearly  the  same  ;  but  as  to  those  who  cultivated  the  soil, 
we  find  them  designated  by  a  multitude  of  dilTercnt  names — 
coloni,  inquilini,  ruslici,  agrlcolcB,  aratores,  tribiUarii,  origin- 
arii,  adscriplitii,  each  name,  well  nigh,  indicating  a  difference 
of  condition.  Some  were  domestic  slaves,  sent  to  a  man's 
country  estate,  to  labor  in  the  fields  there,  instead  of  working 
indoors,  at  his  town-house.  Others  were  regular  serfs  of  the 
soil,  who  could  not  be  sold  except  with  the  domain  itself; 
others  were  farmers,  who  cultivated  the  ground,  in  con- 
sideration of  receiving  half  the  produce;  others,  farmers  of  a 
higher  class,  who  paid  a  regular  money  rent ;  others,  a  sort 
of  comparatively  free  laborers,  farm-servants,  who  worked 
for  wages.  Sometimes,  moreover,  these  very  different  con- 
ditions  seem  mixed  up  together  under  the  general  denomina- 
lion  of  coloni,  sometimes  they  are  designated  under  various 
names. 

Thus,  judging  from  appearances,  and  from  existi''g  tfrms, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  49 

a  political  nobility,  an  upper  burglier  class  or  municipal  nov 
bility,  tlie  people  especially  so  called,  domestic  or  rural  slaves, 
in  their  dilFerent  conditions,  constituted  Gaulish  society,  con- 
stitutcd  the  strength  which  subsisted  in  Gaul,  after  the  with- 
drawal of  Rome. 

But  what  is  the  real  value  to  be  attached  to  these  appf  ai- 
anccs  ?  What  was  the  real  strength  of  this  strength  ?  Whal 
living  and  powerful  society  could  the  concurrences  of  these 
various  classes  form  ?  • 

We  are  in  the  habit  of  giving  to  every  privileged  class  the 
name  of  aristocracy.  I  do  not  conceive  that  this  name  pre' 
perly  appertains  to  the  senatorial  families  of  which  I  have 
just  spoken.  It  was  an  hierarchical  collection  of  function- 
aries, but  not  an  aristocracy.  Neither  privilege,  nor  wealth, 
nor  even  with  these  the  possession  of  power,  are  sufficient  to 
constitute  an  aristocracy.  Permit  me  to  call  your  attention 
for  a  moment,  to  the  true  meaning  of  this  term  ;  I  shall  not  go 
far  in  search  of  it ;  I  will  consult,  for  the  history  of  the  word, 
the  language  whence  we  have  derived  it. 

In  the  more  ancient  Greek  authors,  the  word  apcio)^,  npiarot, 
generally  means  the  strongest,  the  person  possessing  the  su- 
periority in  personal,  physical,  material  strength.  We  find 
the  term  thus  employed  in  Homer,  Hesiod,  and  even  in  some 
of  the  choruses  of  Sophocles  ;  it  came,  periiaps,  from  the  word 
which  designated  the  God  Mars,  the  God  of  Strength,  Apfn. 

As  we  advance  in  the  progress  of  Greek  civilization,  as  we 
approach  the  period  when  social  development  gave  elTect  to 
other  causes  of  superiority  than  physical  force,  the  word 
apiorof  desitrnates  the  great,  powerful,  the  most  considerable, 
the  most  wealthy  ;  it  is  the  title  assigned  to  the  principal 
citizens,  whatever  the  sources  of  their  power  and  influence. 

Going  a  little  further,  we  come  to  the  philosophers,  to  th6 
men  whose  work  it  was  to  elevate  and  purify  ideas ;  with 
them  the  word  apioTos  is  often  used  to  convey  a  meaning  of  a 
far  more  moral  character;  it  indicates  the  best,  the  most  vir- 
tuous,  the  most  able  man  ;  intellectual  superiority.  In  the 
eyes  of  these  definers,  the  aristocratic  government  was  the 
government  of  the  best,  tliat  is  to  say,  the  ideal  of  govern- 
w  ents. 

Thus,  then,  physical  force,  social  preponderance,  moral 
superiority — thus,  so  to  speak,  and  judging  from  the  vicissi- 
tude? in  the  meaninffs  (^f  tJie  words,  thus  have  these  been  tll« 


50  HISTORY    OF 

gradations  of  aristocracy,  the  various  slates  through  which  ii 
has  had  to  pass. 

And,  indeed,  for  an  aristocracy  to  be  real,  for  it  to  merit 
its  name,  it  must  possess,  and  possess  of  itself,  one  or  the 
other  of  those  characteristics ;  it  must  have  either  a  force  of 
its  own,  a  force  which  it  borrows  from  no  one,  ana  which 
none  can  wrest  from  it,  or  a  force  admitted,  proclaimed  by  the 
men  over  whom  it  exercises  this  force.  It  must  have  either 
independence  or  popularity.  It  must  either  have  power,  in 
its  mere  personal  right,  as  was  the  case  \\  ith  tiie  feudal  aris- 
tocracy, or  it  must  receive  power  by  national  and  free  elec- 
tion, as  is  the  case  in  representative  governments.  Nothing 
resembling  either  of  these  characteristics  is  to  be  met  with  in 
the  senatorial  aristocracy  of  Gaul ;  it  possessed  neither  inde- 
Dendence  nor  popularity.  Power,  wealth,  privilege,  all  it  hud 
and  exercised,  was  borrowed  and  precarious.  Undoubtedly 
the  senatorial  families  occupied  a  position  in  society  and  in 
the  eyes  of  the  people,  for  they  were  rich,  and  had  filled  pub- 
lic ollices ;  but  they  were  incapable  of  any  great  ellbrt,  in- 
capable of  carrying  the  people  with  them,  or  using  them  either 
to  defend  or  to  govern  the  country. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  second  class,  the  curiales,  and  ex- 
amine wiiat  the  real  extent  of  their  strength  was.  Judging 
from  appearances,  these  had  something  beyond  what  the  pre- 
ceding class  possessed ;  among  them,  tlie  presence  of  princi- 
ples of  liberty  is  evident.  1  iiave  already  endeavored  to  ex- 
plain  these  in  the  following  manner,  in  my  Essai  sur  le  regime 
Municipal  Romain  mi,  V.  Steele  : 

1.  Livery  inhabitant  of  a  town,  possessor  of  a  fortune  sufll- 
cient  to  secure  his  independence  and  the  development  of  iii.s 
understanding,  is  a  curialis,  and  as  such  called  upon  to  take 
part  in  the  administration  of  civic  affairs. 

The  right  of  curialship,  then,  is  attached  to  the  presumed 
capacity  of  filling  it,  and  not  to  any  privilege  of  birth,  and 
without  any  limit  as  to  numbers  ;  and  this  right  is  not  a  mere 
right  of  election,  but  a  right  to  deliberate  upon  and  to  partici- 
pate directly  in  the  administration  of  affairs,  a  right  to  discuss 
matters  and  interests,  the  comprehension  of  wliich,  and  the 
ability  to  discuss  which,  it  may  reasonably  be  supposed  that 
all  persons  above  the  very  lowest  in  the  scale  of  existence 
possess.  The  curia  is  not  a  limited  and  select  town  council, 
but  an  assembly  of  all  such  inhabitants  as  come  within  the 
curial  qualification. 


JIVILIZATION    IN    FRAMCE.  6J 

2.  An  assembly  cannot  act  administratively  ;  there  must 
9e  magistrates  to  do  this.  Such  magistrates  are  all  elected 
by  the  curia,  for  a  very  limited  period,  and  are  responsible 
with  their  fortunes  for  tiie  integrity  of  their  administration. 

3.  In  great  emergencies,  when  the  fate  of  a  city  is  in  ques. 
lion,  or  when  it  is  proposed  to  elect  a  magistrate  invested  with 
nncertain  and  more  arbitrary  powers,  the  curia  itself  does  not 
Budicc  ;  the  whole  population  is  summoned  to  concur  in  thete 
solemn  acts. 

Who,  at  the  aspect  of  such  rights  existing,  would  not  ima- 
gine  he  recognized  a  petty  republic,  in  which  the  municipal 
life  and  the  political  life  were  mixed  up  and  confounded  to- 
gether, in  which  democracy  of  the  most  unequivocal  descrip- 
tion prevailed  ?  Who  would  imagine,  for  one  instant,  that  a 
town  so  governed  formed  part  of  a  great  empircj  and  waa 
connected  by  strict  and  necessary  bonds  with  a  distant  and 
sovereign  central  power  ?  Who  would  not  expect  to  find  here 
all  the  impulsive  manifestations  of  liberty,  all  the  agitation, 
all  the  faction  and  cabal,  all  the  violence,  all  the  disorder, 
which  invariably  characterize  small  societies,  inclosed  and 
self-governed  within  tlieir  own  walls? 

Nothing  of  the  sort  was  the  fact ;  all  these  apparent  prin- 
ciples were  without  life,  and  there  were  others  existent,  which 
absolutely  precluded  their  reanimation. 

1.  Such  are  the  effects,  such  the  exigencies  of  the  central 
despotism,  that  the  quality  of  curialis  l)ecomcs  not  a  right 
recognized  in  all  those  who  are  capable  of  exercising  it,  but  a 
burden  imposed  upon  all  who  are  capable  of  bearing  it.  On 
the  one  hand  the  central  government  has  relieved  itself  of  the 
duty  of  providing  for  any  branch  of  the  public  service  in 
which  it  is  not  immediately  interested,  throwing  this  duty 
upon  the  class  of  citizens  in  question ;  on  the  other  hand,  it 
employs  this  class  of  citizens  in  collecting  the  taxes  which  it 
imposes  on  its  own  peculiar  account,  and  makes  them  respon- 
sible  for  the  full  amount.  It  ruins  the  curiales,  in  order  to 
pay  its  functionaries  and  its  soldiers ;  it  grants  its  functiona- 
'•ics  and  its  soldiers  all  sorts  of  practical  advantages  and  privi- 
leges, as  inducements  to  them  to  aid  it  in  preventing  the 
curiales  from  saving  themselves  from  ruin.  Completely  null 
as  citizens,  the  curiales  only  live  to  be  stripped  of  all  they 
gain  as  men  of  labor  and  industry. 

2.  The  magistrates  elected  by  the  curuB  are,  in  point  of 
fact,  merely  the  imperial   agents    of  de?potism,   for  whose 

24 


53  HISTORY   OF 

benefit  they  despoil  their  fellow-citizens,  until  some  op}»rlu 
nity  or  other  occurs  to  them  of  getting  rii  ol  this  hard  obli 
gation. 

3.  Their  election  itself  is  valueless,  for  the  imperial  repre. 
sentative  in  the  province  may  annul  it;  a  favor  which  they 
iiave  the  greatest  desire  to  obtain  at  his  hands ;  another  cir- 
cumstance  putting  them  more  firmly  in  his  power. 

4.  Their  authority  is  not  real,  for  they  cannot  enforce  it. 
No  effective  jurisdiction  is  placed  in  their  hands  ;  they  take 
no  step  which  may  not  be  annulled.  Nay,  more:  despotisi  i, 
perceiving  more  and  more  clearly  their  ill-will  to  the  task,  or 
their  inability  to  execute  it,  encroaches  more  and  more,  by 
itself  or  its  immediate  representatives,  into  the  sphere  of  tiioir 
functions.  The  business  of  the  curia  gradually  disappears 
with  its  powers,  and  a  day  will  come  when  the  municipal 
system  may  be  abolished  at  a  single  blow,  in  the  still  sul)sist- 
ing  empire,  "  because,"  as  the  legislator  will  say,  "  all  these 
laws  wander,  as  it  were,  vainly  and  without  oijject  around 
the  legal  soil."' 

Thus,  then,  it  is  seen,  force,  real  life,  were  equally  wanting 
to  the  curiulcs,  as  to  the  senatorial  families  ;  equally  with 
the  senatorial  families,  they  were  incapable  of  defending  or 
of  governing  the  society. 

As  to  the  people,  I  need  not  dwell  upon  their  situation  ;  it 
is  obvious  that  they  were  in  no  condition  to  save  and  regene- 
rate the  Roman  world.  Yet  we  must  not  tiiink  them  alto- 
gether so  powerless,  so  utterly  null,  as  is  ordinarily  supposed. 
They  were  tolerably  numerous,  more  especially  in  the  south 
of  Gaul,  both  from  the  development  of  industrial  activi  5 
during  the  first  tliree  ages  of  Christianity,  and  from  the  cir- 
cumstance  of  a  portion  of  the  rural  population  taking  refuge 
in  the  towns  from  tlie  devastation  of  the  barbarians.  Besides, 
with  the  progress  of  disorder  in  the  higher  ranks,  the  popular 
influence  had  a  tendency  to  increase.  In  times  of  regularity, 
when  tiie  administration,  its  functionaries,  and  its  troops  wore 
on  the  spot,  ere  the  curia  liad  become  altogethei  ruined  and 
|X)werless,  the  people  remained  in  their  ordinary  state  of  in- 
action, or  passive  dependence.  But  wlien  all  the  vnrioui 
masters  of  the  society  had  fallen  away  or  disappeanid,  when 
Iho  dissolution  of  things  became  general,  the  people,  in   their 


\  Nov.   46,  renderod  by  the  Em|-ieror  of  the  East,  Leo  the  Philoao 
phcr.  towards  the  close  of  the  ninth  century 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  59 

turn,  grew  to  be  somctliing,   and   assumed,  at  all  events,  a 
certain  degree  of  activity  and  importance. 

I  have  nothing  to  say  about  the  slaves  ;  they  were  nothing 
for  themselves  ;  how,  then,  could  they  do  anything  for 
society  ?  It  was,  moreover,  the  coloni  who  underwent  well 
nigh  all  the  disasters  of  invasion ;  it  was  they  whom  the  bar- 
barians pillaged,  hunted,  carried  away  captive,  pell-mell  with 
their  cattle.  I  may  remark,  however,  incidentally,  that  under 
the  Empire  the  condition  of  the  slaves  was  great'y  improved  ; 
this  is  clear  from  its  legislation. 

Let  us  now  collect  all  these  scattered  features  of  Gaulish 
civil  society  in  the  fifth  century,  and  form  a  collective  idea, 
as  near  the  fact  as  we  can,  of  its  aggregate. 

Its  government  was  monarchical,  even  despotic ;  and  yet 
all  the  monarchical  institutions  and  powers  were  falling,  were 
themselves  abandoning  their  post.  Its  internal  organization 
seemed  aristocratic;  but  it  was  an  aristocracy  without  strength, 
without  coherence,  incapable  of  playing  a  public  part.  A 
democratic  element,  municipalities,  free  burghers,  were  still 
visible  ;  but  democracy  was  as  enervated,  as  powerless,  as 
aristocracy  and  monarchy.  The  whole  of  society  was  in  a 
state  of  dissolution,  was  dying. 

And  here  we  see  the  radical  vice  of  the  Roman  society, 
and  of  every  society  where  slavery  exists  on  a  large  scale, 
where  a  few  masters  rule  over  whole  herds  of  people.  In  all 
countries,  at  all  times,  whatever  the  political  system  which 
prevails,  after  an  interval  more  or  less  long,  by  the  sole  efiecl 
of  the  enjoyment  of  power,  of  wealth,  of  the  intellectual  de- 
velopment, of  the  various  social  advantages  they  enjoy,  the 
tiigher  classes  wear  themselves  out,  become  enervated,  unless 
they  are  constantly  excited  by  emulation,  and  refreshed  by 
the  immigration  of  the  classes  who  live  and  labor  below  them. 
See  what  has  taken  place  in  modern  Europe.  There  has 
been  in  it  a  prodigious  variety  of  social  conditions,  infinite 
gradations  in  wealth,  liberty,  enlightenment,  influence,  civili- 
zation. And  up  all  the  steps  of  this  long  ladder,  an  ascend- 
ing movement  has  constantly  impelled  each  class  and  all 
classes,  the  one  by  the  other,  towards  greater  development, 
to  which  none  was  allowed  to  remain  a  stranger.  Hence  the 
fecundity,  the  immorality,  so  to  speak,  of  modern  civilization, 
thus  incessantly  recruited  and  renewed. 

Nothing  at  all  resembling  this  existed  in  the  Roman 
society  ;  there,  men  were  divided  off  into  two  great  classes, 


54  HISTORY    OF 

separated  from  each  other  by  an  immense  interval ;  there 
was  no  variety,  no  ascending  movement,  no  genuine  demo- 
cracy ;  it  was,  as  it  were,  a  society  of  oflicers,  who  did  not 
know  whence  to  recruit  their  numbers,  and  did  not,  in  point 
of  fact,  recruit  them.  There  was,  indeed,  from  the  first  to 
the  third  century,  as  I  have  just  now  said,  a  progressive 
movement  on  tiie  part  of  the  lower  classes  of  the  pcoj)le  j  they 
increased  in  liberty,  in  number,  in  activity.  But  the  move- 
ment was  fur  too  slow,  far  too  limited,  to  enable  tlie  people  by 
reintegrating  in  time  the  superior  classes,  to  save  them  from 
their  decline  and  fall. 

Besides  these,  there  became  formed  another  society,  young, 
energetic,  fruitful  of  results, — ^the  ecclesiastical  society.  It 
was  around  this  society  that  the  people  rallied  ;  no  powerful 
bond  united  them  to  the  senators,  nor,  perhaps,  to  the  curiales  ; 
they  assembled,  therefore,  around  the  priests  and  bishops. 
Alien  to  pagan  civil  society,  whose  chiefs  created  therein  no 
place  for  it,  the  mass  of  the  population  entered  with  ardor 
into  the  Ciirisiian  society,  whose  leaders  opened  their  arms  to 
it.  The  senatorial  and  curial  aristocracy  was  a  mere  phan- 
tom ;  the  clergy  became  the  real  aristocracy  ;  there  was  no 
Roman  people  ;  a  Christian  people  arose.  It  is  with  them 
wo  shall  occupy  ourselves  in  the  next  'ecture 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  Ml 


THIRD  LECTURR. 

Object  of  the  lecture— Variety  of  the  principles  and  forms  of  religious 
society  in  Furope-r-Classification  of  the  different  systems,  1.  Ac- 
cording to  the  relations  of  the  church  in  the  state ;  2.  According  ta 
the  internal  constitution  of  the  church— All  these  systems  assign 
their  origin  to  the  primitive  church— Critical  examination  of  these 
pretensions— They  have  all  a  certain  degree  of  foundation— Fluctu- 
ation and  complexity  of  the  external  situation  and  internal  position 
of  Cliristian  society  from  the  first  to  the  fifth  century— Predominant 
tendencies— Prevalent  facts  of  the  fifth  century— Causes  of  liberty 
in  the  church  at  this  period— The  election  of  bishops— Councils- 
Comparison  of  religious  with  civil  society— Of  the  chiefs  of  these 
two  societies— Letters  of  Sidonius  ApoUinaris, 

The  subject  which  is  now  about  to  occupy  our  attention,  is 
the  state  of  religious  society  in  the  fifth  century.  I  need  not 
remind  you  of  the  great  part  it  has  played  in  the  history  of 
modern  civilization  :  that  is  a  fact  perfectly  well  understood. 
Nor  is  it  in  modern  history  that  this  fact  first  manifested 
itself;  the  world  has  seen  more  than  one  striking  example  of 
the  power  of  the  religious  society,  of  its  ideas,  its  institutions, 
its  government.  But  there  is  a  fundamental  difference  to  be 
remarked.  In  Asia,  in  Africa,  in  antiquity,  everywhere 
before  the  organization  of  Europe,  religious  society  presents 
itself  under  a  general  and  simple  form  ;  this  is  the  clear  pre- 
valence  of  a  system,  the  domination  of  a  principle  :  sometimes 
the  society  is  subordinate  ;  it  is  the  temporal  power  which 
exercises  the  spiritual  functions  and  directs  the  worship,  and 
even  the  faith  :  sometimes  it  occupies  the  chief  place  ;  it  is 
the  spiritual  power  which  rules  the  civil  order.  In  both  the 
one  case  and  the  other,  the  position  and  organization  of  the 
religious  society  are  clear,  simple,  stable.  In  modern  Europe, 
on  the  contrary,  it  presents  every  possible  variety  of  system  ; 
we  find  in  it  every  possible  principle ;  it  seems  made  up  of 
samples  of  all  the   forms  under  which  it  has  appeared  else- 

Let*  us  endeavor,  for  the  sake  of  greater  perspicuity,  to 
disintricate  and  classify  the  different  principles,  the  different 
systems  which  have  been   in  various  measure,  adopted  into 


66  HISTORY    OP 

European  religious  society,  the  different  constitutions  it  hofi 
received. 

Two  great  questions  here  present  themselves  :  on  the  one 
hand,  the  exterior  situation  of  the  religious  society,  its  position 
with  reference  to  civil  society,  the  relations,  that  is  to  say,  of 
church  with  state ;  and  on  the  other,  its  interior  organization, 
its  internal  government. 

With  both  the  one  and  the  other  of  these  questions,  we  must 
connect  the  modifications  of  which  religious  society  has  been 
the  object  in  the  particular  respect. 

I  will  first  consider  its  external  situation,  its  relations  with 
the  state. 

Four  systems,  essentially  diflfering  from  one  another,  have 
been  maintained  on  this  subject. 

1.  The  state  is  subordinate  to  the  church  ;  in  the  moral 
point  of  view,  in  the  chronological  order  itself,  the  church  pre 
cedes  the  state;  the  church  is  the  first  society,  superior,  eter- 
nal ;  civil  society  is  nothing  more  than  the  consequence,  than 
an  application  of  its  principles  ;  it  is  to  the  spiritual  power 
that  sovereignty  belongs  of  right ;  the  temporal  power  should 
merely  act  as  its  instrument. 

2.  It  is  not  the  state  which  is  in  the  church,  but  the  church 
which  is  in  the  state :  it  is  the  state  which  rules  the  land, 
which  makes  war,  levies  taxes,  governs  the  external  destiny 
of  the  citizens.  It  is  for  the  state  to  give  to  tiie  religious 
society  the  form  and  constitution  which  best  accord  with  the 
interests  of  general  society.  Whenever  creeds  cease  to  bo 
individual,  whenever  they  give  birth  to  associations,  these 
come  within  the  cognizance  and  authority  of  the  temporal 
power,  the  only  veritable  power  in  a  state. 

3.  The  church  ought  to  be  independent,  unnoticed  in  the 
state ;  the  state  has  nothing  to  do  with  her  ;  the  temporal 
power  ought  to  take  no  cognizance  of  religious  creeds ;  it 
should  let  them  approximate  or  separate,  let  them  go  on  and 
govern  themselves  as  they  think  best ;  it  has  no  right,  nc 
occasion,  to  interfere  in  their  affairs. 

4.  The  church  and  the  state  are  distinct  societies,  it  i? 
true  J  but  they  are  at  the  same  time  close  neighbors,  and 
are  nearly  interested  in  one  another :  let  them  live  separate, 
but  not  estranged  ;  let  them  keep  up  an  alliance  on  certain 
conditions,  each  living  to  itself,  but  each  making  sacrifices 
for  the  other,  in  case  of  need,  each  lending  the  other  ito 
support. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  57 

In  the  internal  organization  of  tlie  religious  stJciety,  the 
diversity  of  principles  and  forms  is  even  still  greater. 

And  first,  we  see  before  us  two  leading  systems  :  in  the  one, 
power  is  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  the  clergy  ;  the  priests 
alone  form  a  constituted  body ;  the  ecclesiastical  society 
governs  the  religious  society:  in  the  other,  the  religious  soci. 
ety  governs  itself,  or  at  least  participates  in  the  administration 
of  its  affairs  ;  the  social  organization  comprehends  tlie  body 
of  the  faithful,  as  well  as  the  priests. 

Government  in  the  hands  of  the  ecclesiastical  society  solely 
may  l)e  constituted  in  various  ways.  1.  Under  the  form  of 
pure  monarchy  ;  there  are  several  examples  of  this  in  the 
history  of  the  world.  2.  Under  the  form  of  an  aristocracy; 
where  the  bishops,  for  instance,  each  in  liis  own  diocese,  or 
in  a  collective  assembly,  govern  the  church  in  their  own  right, 
witliout  the  concurrence  of  the  mferior  clergy.  3.  Under  a 
democratic  forin,  where,  for  instance,  the  government  of  the 
church  belongs  to  the  whole  body  of  the  clergy,  to  assemblies 
of  priests  all  equal  among  themselves. 

In  cases  where  the  society  governs  itself,  the  diversity  of 
forms  is  equally  great.  1.  The  body  of  the  faithful,  the 
laity,  sit  with  the  priests  in  the  assemblies  charged  with  the 
general  government  of  the  church.  2.  There  is  no  general 
government  of  the  church  ;  each  congregation  forms  a  several 
local,  independent  cliurch,  which  governs  itself;  whose  mem- 
bers select  their  own  spiritual  chief,  according  to  their  parti- 
cular views  and  purposes.  3.  There  is  no  distinct  and 
permanent  spiritual  government  at  all  j  no  clergy,  no  priests  ; 
teaching,  preaching,  all  the  spiritual  functions  are  exercised 
by  the  bouy  of  the  faithful  themselves,  according  to  circum- 
stances, according  to  inspiration  ;  there  is  constant  change, 
constant  agitation. 

I  might  combine  in  an  infinity  of  ways  these  various  forms, 
mixing  their  elements  together  in  various  proportions,  and 
thus  create  a  host  of  other  diversified  formsi  but  with  my 
utmost  ingenuity  I  could  devise  no  combination  which  has 
not  already  been  exhibited  to  the  world. 

And  not  only  have  all  these  prmciples  been  professed,  not 
ordy  have  all  these  systems  been  maintained  each  as  the  only 
true  and  legitimate  system,  but  all  of  them  have  been  brought 
into  practical  operation,  all  of  them  have  existed. 

Every  one  knows  that  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centu- 
ries  the  spiritual  power  claimed  as  its  right,  sometimes  th» 


58  HISTORY    OF 

direct  exercise,  sometimes  the  indirect  nomiuation  of  the  lum 
poral  power.  Everyone  sees  that  in  England,  where  Parliii 
ment  has  disposed  of  the  faith  as  of  tlie  crown  of  the  country, 
Uie  church  .s  subordinate  to  the  state.  What  are  popery, 
Erastianism,'  episcopacy,  presbyterianism,  tlie  independents, 
the  quakers,  but  applications  of  the  doctrines  I  have  pointecl 
out?  All  doctrines  have  become  facts:  there  are  examplea 
of  all  systems,  and  of  all  the  so  varied  combinations  of  sys- 
tems. And  not  only  have  all  systems  been  realized,  but  they 
have,  every  one  of  them,  set  up  a  claim  to  historical  as  wuU 
as  to  rational  legitimacy  ;  they  have,  every  one  of  them,  re- 
ferred their  origin  to  the  earliest  age  of  the  Christian  cliurch  ; 
they  have,  every  one  of  them,  claimed  ancient  facts  for  their 
own,  as  their  own  peculiar  foundation  and  justification. 

Nor  are  they  wholly  wrong  any  of  them ;  we  find  in  the 
first  ages  of  the  age,  facts  with  which  all  of  them  are  entitled 
to  claim  a  connexion.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  they  are  all 
alike  true,  rationally,  all  alike  authentic,  historically,  nor  tliat 
Ihcy  all  represent  a  series  of  dillerent  facts,  through  which 
the  church  has  necessarily  passed.  What  I  mean  is  simply, 
that  there  is  in  each  of  these  systems  a  greater  or  less  pro- 
portion of  moral  truth  and  of  historical  reality.  They  have 
all  played  a  part,  have  occupied  a  place,  in  the  history  of 
modern  religious  history  :  they  have  all,  in  various  measure, 
contributed  to  the  work  of  its  formation. 

I  will  view  them  successively  in  the  first  ages  of  the  church  ; 
we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  tracing  them  there. 

Let  us  first  consider  the  external  situation  of  the  church, 
and  its  relations  with  civil  society. 

As  to  the  system  of  a  church,  independent,  unnoticed  in 
the  state,  existing  and  governing  itself  without  the  interven- 
tion of  the  temporal  power,  this  is  evidently  the  primitive 
situation  of  the  Christian  church.  So  long  as  it  was  con- 
fined  within  a  limited  space,  or  disseminated  only  in  small 
and  isolated  congregations,  the  Roman  government  took  no 
notice  of  it,  and  allowed  it  to  exist  and  regulate  its  aflliirs  as 
11  thought  proper. 

This  state  of  things  terminated  :  the  Roman  empire  took 
cognizance  of  the  Christian  society  j  I   do  not  refer  to  iho 


'  The  system  in  which  the  church  is  governed  by  the  state,  eo 
.lAioed  from  Erastus,  a  German  ineologian  and  physician  of  the  Ifith 
century,  wbo  first  maintained  tliis  principle  witli  any  distintjuislieJ 
offuct 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


59 


rciiod  when  it  took  notice  of  it  in  the  way  of  persecution,  bul 
to    thiit  when  tlie    Roman    world    became    Christian,  wlien 
Christianity  ascended  the  throne  with  Constantine.     llie  po- 
silion  of  the  church  with  reference   to  the  state  underwent 
n  great  change  at  tliis  epoch.      It  were    incorrect  to  say  that 
it    fell    at  thfs   period   under  the  government  of  the  church, 
tliat  the  system  of  its  subordination  to  power  then  came   inti 
operation.     In  general,  the  emperors  did  not  pretend  to  rcgu- 
late  the  faith  ;  tiicy  took  the  doctrines  of  the  church  as  they 
found  them.     The  majority  of  the  questions  which,  at  a  later 
period,  excited  the  rivalship  of  the  two  powers,  had  not  as  yet 
arisen.     Still,   even   at    this   period,   we  meet   with  a  great 
number  of  facts  wherein  the  system  of  the  sovereignly  of  the 
state  over  the  church   might  have  sought,  and  has,  indeed, 
sought  its  origin.     Towards   the  close  of  the  third  and  the 
commencement  of  the  fourth  century,  for  instance,  the  bishops 
observed  an  extremely  humble  and  submissive  tone  with  the 
emperors ;   they  were  incessantly  exalting  the  imperial  ma- 
jesty.     Doubtless,  had  it  attempted  to  assail  the  independence 
of  their   faith,  they  would   have  defended   themselves,  as,  in 
point  of  fact,  they  often  did  defend  themselves,  with  energy  ; 
but  they  were  greatly  in  need  of  the  emperors'  protection  so 
recently  extended  to  them.     But  just  recognized  and  adopted 
by  the  temporal  power,  they  were  anxious  to  treat  it  with  the 
utmost  respect  and  consideration.      Besides,   they   could  do 
nothing   of  themselves ;    the  religious  society,  or  ratlier  its 
government,  had  nt  this  epoch  no  means  of  carrying   its  will 
into  execution  ;  it  had  no  institutions,  no  rules,  no  system  ;  it 
was  constantly  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  intervention  of 
the  civil  government,  tlie  ancient  and  only  organized  authority. 
This  continual  necessity  for  a  foreign  sanction  gave  religioua 
society  an  air  of  subordination  and  dependence,  more  apparent 
than  real  ;  at  bottom,  its  independence  and  even  its  power 
were   considerable,  but  still,  in   almost  all   its   affairs,  in  all 
matters  affecting  the  interest  of  the  church,  the  emperor  in- 
terfered ;  his  consent  and  approbation  were  invariably  solicited. 
The  councils  were  generally  assembled   by  his  order ;  and 
not  only  did    he  convene   them,  but   he  presided  over  them, 
either   in    person   or   by  deputy,  and  decided   what  subjects 
should  be  discussed  by  them.     Thus  Constantine  was  present 
in  person  at  the  council  of  Aries,  in  314,  and  at  the  council 
of  Nicea,  in  22^,  and,  apparently  at  least,  superintended  the 
deliberations.     I  say  apparently ;  for  the  mere  presence  of 


60  HISTORY    OP 

the  emperor  at  a  council  was  a  triumph  for  the  church,  a 
proof  of  victory  far  more  than  of  subjection.  But  howevei 
this  may  have  been,  the  forms,  at  all  events,  were  tliose  of 
respectful  subordination ;  the  cliurch  availed  herself  of  the 
power  of  the  Empire,  covered  herself  with  its  majesty ;  and 
Erastianism,  independently  of  the  national  grounds  upon 
which  it  proceeds,  has  found,  in  the  history  of  this  epoch, 
facts  which  have  served  as  its  justification. 

As  to  the  opposite  system,  the  general  and  absolute  sove- 
reignty of  the  church,  it  is  clear  that  it  cannot  be  met  with  in 
the  cradle  of  a  religious  society  ;  it  necessarily  belongs  '.o  the 
period  of  its  greatest  power,  of  its  fullest  development.  Yet 
one  may  already  detect  glimpses  of  it,  and  very  distinct 
glimpses,  in  the  fifth  century.  The  superiority  of  spiritual 
over  temporal  interests,  of  the  destiny  of  the  believer  as  com- 
pared  with  that  of  the  mere  citizen,  the  principle  enunciated 
by  the  religious  society,  was  already  recognized  and  admitted 
by  the  civil  society. 

We  accordingly  find  the  language  of  the  heads  of  thd  spi- 
ritual  society,  erewhile  so  gentle,  so  reserved,  so  modest,  now 
becon)ing  confident,  bold,  often  even  haughty  ;  whilst,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  of  the  chiefs  of  the  civil  society,  of  the  supe- 
riors themselves,  despite  the  pomp  still  clinging  round  its 
forms,  is  in  reality  mild  and  submissive.  At  this  period,  in- 
deed, the  whole  framework  of  temporal  power  was  in  a  state 
of  rapid  decay ;  the  Empire  was  expiring  ;  the  imperial 
power  was  day  by  day  more  and  more  nearly  approaching 
the  condition  of  an  utter,  of  a  ridiculous  nonentity.  The 
spiritual  power,  on  the  contrary,  grew  stronger  and  stronger, 
and  penetrated  more  deeply  and  widely  into  civil  society;  the 
church  became  more  wealthy,  her  jurisdiction  more  extended  ; 
6he  was  visibly  progressing  towards  domination.  The  com- 
plete fall  of  the  Empire  in  the  west,  and  the  rise  of  the  bar- 
barous monarchies,  contributed  greatly  to  the  exaltation  of 
her  pretensions  and  of  her  power.  The  church  had  long  been 
mder  the  emperors,  obscure,  feeble,  a  mere  child,  so  to  speak  ; 
she  had  thence  acquired  a  sort  of  reserve  in  her  intercourse 
with  them  ;  a  habit  of  respect  for  their  ancient  power,  their 
name ;  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  had  the  Empire  continued 
to  exist,  the  church  would  never  have  completely  emanci- 
pated i.erself  from  this  custom  of  her  youth.  What  corrobo- 
r«il08  this  supposition  is  the  fact  that  such  has  been  the  case  in 
i!vc  coiktcm  Empiiie;  that  Empire  lived  on  fcr  twelve  ceiitu 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


61 


ries  in  a  state  of  grnHual  decay ;  the  imperial  power  became 
little  more  than  nominal.  Yet  the  church  there  never  attained, 
never  even  sought  to  attain  the  sovereignty.  The  Greek 
church  remained,  with  the  eastern  emperors,  in  nearly  the 
same  relation  in  which  the  Romish  church  stood  with  the 
Roman  emperors.  In  the  west,  the  Empire  lell  ;  kings  co- 
vered  with  furs  took  the  place  of  princes  clothed  in  purple  ; 
the  church  yielded  not  to  these  new  comers  the  same  conside- 
ration, the  same  respect  which  she  had  paid  to  their  predeces- 
sors.  Moreover,  to  contend  successfully  against  their  barba- 
rism, she  found  herself  under  the  necessity  of  stretching  to 
its  utmost  bent  the  spring  of  spiritual  power:  the  exaltation 
of  popular  feeling  in  this  direction,  was  her  means  of  safety 
and  of  action.  Hence  the  so  rapid  progress  now  of  those 
pretensions  of  hers  to  the  sovereignty,  which  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury were  scarce  perceptible. 

As  to  the  system  of  alliance  between  the  two  distinct  ana 
independent  societies,  it  is  not  diflicult  to  recognize  it  at  this 
period  ;  there  was  nothing  precise  or  fixed  in  the  conditions 
of  the  alliance ;  the  two  powers  never  continued  long  upon 
equal  terms  under  them ;  they  kept  each  in  its  own  sphere, 
and  treated  together  whenever  they  happened  to  come  in  con- 
tact. 

We  find,  then,  from  the  first  to  the  fifth  century,  in  germ 
and  in  development,  all  the  systems  according  to  which  the 
relations  between  church  and  state  may  be  regulated  ;  they 
all  of  them  derive  their  origin  from  facts  dating  from  the  cradle 
of  religious  society.  Let  us  pass  on  to  the  interior  organiza- 
tion  of  this  society,  to  the  internal  government  of  the  church; 
we  shall  arrive  at  the  same  result. 

It  is  clear  that  this  last  form  cannot  be  that  of  an  infant 
church;  no  moral  association  begins  with  the  inertia  of  the 
mass  of  those  associated,  with  the  separation  of  the  people  and 
the  government*  It  is  certain,  accordingly,  that  at  the  out- 
jset  of  Christianity,  the  body  of  the  faithful  participated  in  the 
administration  of  the  affairs  of  the  society.  The  presbyterian 
jystem.  that  is  to  say,  the  government  of  the  church  by  its 
spiritual  chiefs,  assisted  by  the  leading  members  of  the  body, 
was  the  primitive  system.  There  may  be  many  questions 
raised  as  to  the  titles,  functions,  and  mutual  relations  of  these 
lay  and  ecclesiastical  chiefs  of  the  rising  congregations  ;  but 
as  to  the  fact  of  their  concurrence  in  the  regulation  of  tlioil 
tommoQ  affairs,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 


62  HISTORY    OK 

Equally  unquestionable  Is  it  that  at  this  period  the  separate 
Bocieties,  the  Christian  congregations  in  each  town,  were  far 
more  independent  of  each  other  than  they  have  been  at  any 
subsequent  time;  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  governed 
themselves,  perhaps  not  completely,  but  almost  so,  each  for 
itself,  and  apart  from  the  rest.  Hence  the  system  of  the 
Jndependenis,  who  insist  that  the  religious  society  should 
have  no  general  government,  but  that  each  local  congrega- 
tion should  be  an  entire  and  sovereign  society  in  itself. 

No  doubt,  again,  that  in  these  petty  Christian  societies  ot 
early  date,  unconnected  with  one  another,  and  often  without 
the  means  of  preaching  and  teaching,  no  d^mbt  that  in  the; 
absence  of  a  spiritual  leader  instituted  by  the  original  foundei 
of  ti.e  faith,  it  often  occurred  that,  under  the  influence  of  an 
inward  impulse,  some  individual  member  of  the  body>  of 
strong  mind,  and  endowed  with  the  gift  of  acting  upon  his 
fi^Uows,  arose  and  preached  the  word  to  tiie  association  to 
which  lie  belonged.  Hence  the  system  of  the  Quakers,  the 
S""stcm  of  spontaneous  individual  preaching,  without  any 
order  of  priests,  of  regular  and  permanent  clergy. 

These  are  some  of  the  principles,  some  of  the  forms  of  the 
religious  societies  in  the  first  age  of  the  Christian  church, 
It  comprehended  many  others ;  perhaps,  indeed,  those  whici' 
I  have  mentioned  wei*e  not  the  most  powerful  in  their  in- 
fluence. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  incontestable  that  the  first  founders, 
or,  more  correctly  speaking,  the  first  instruments  in  the  foun- 
dation of  Christianity,  the  apostles,  regarded  theniselves  as 
invested  with  a  special  mission  received  from  on  high,  and 
that  they  in  turn  transmitted  to  their  disciples  by  the  laying 
on  of  hands,  or  in  some  other  form,  the  right  to  teach  and 
;o  preach.  Ordination  is  a  primitive  fact  in  the  Christian 
church ;  hence  an  order  of  priests,  a  distinct  permanent  clergy, 
invested  with  peculiar  functions,  duties,  and  rights. 

Let  us  turn  to  another  primitive  fact.  The  particular  con- 
gregations  were,  it  is  true,  isolated  ;  but  the  tendency  of  them 
all  was  to  unite,  to  live  under  one  common  discipline  as 
under  one  common  faith  ;  it  was  the  tendency,  the  aim, 
natural  to  every  society  in  progress  of  self- formation ;  it  ia 
the  necessary  condition  of  its  extension,  of  ;ts  firm  establish- 
ment. 

Approximation,  assimilation  of  the  various  elements,  move, 
nnent  towards  »inity,  such  is  the  regular  course  (f  creatioa 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  03 

riie  first  propagators  of  Christianity,  the  apostles  or  tlieii 
jisciples,  preserved,  moreover,  over  the  most  distant  congre- 
gations a  certain  amount  of  authority,  a  remote  but  efncu- 
eious  superintendence.  Tiiey  took  care  to  form  and  to  main- 
rain  ties  not  only  of  moral  brotheriiood,  but  of  organizations 
between  the  particular  churches.  Hence  a  constant  tendency 
toward  a  general  government  of  the  churches,  an  identical 
and  permanent  constitution. 

It  appears  to  me  perfectly  clear  that  in  the  minds  of  the 
first  Christians,  in  their  common  and  simple  feeling,  ♦he 
apostles  were  regarded  as  superior  to  their  disciples,  and  Ine 
immediate  disciples  of  the  apostles  as  superior  to  their  suc- 
cessors;  a  superiority  purely  moral,  not  established  as  an 
institution,  but  real  and  admitted.  In  it  we  have  the  first 
germ,  the  religious  germ  of  the  episcopal  system.  That 
system  derives  also  from  another  source.  The  towns  into 
which  Christianity  had  made  its  way,  were  very  unequal  in 
population,  in  wealth,  in  importance ;  and  the  inequality  in 
intellectual  development,  in  moral  power,  was  as  great  as 
the  material  inequality.  There  was,  consequently,  an  ine- 
quality  likewise  in  the  distribution  of  influence  among  the 
spiritual  heads  of  the  congregations.  The  chiefs  of  the 
more  important,  of  the  more  enlightened  towns,  naturally 
took  the  lead  and  exercised  an  authority,  at  first  moral,  then 
institutional,  over  the  minor  congregations  witiiin  a  certain 
circle  around  them.  This  was  the  political  germ  of  the 
episcopal  system. 

Thus,  at  the  same  time  that  we  recognize  in  the  primitive 
state  of  the  religious  society  the  association  of  lay-members 
with  the  priests  in  the  government,  that  is  to  say,  the  Presby- 
terian system ;  the  isolation  of  the  particular  congregations, 
that  is  to  say,  the  system  of  the  Independents  ;  free,  sponta- 
neous,  casual  preaching,  that  is  to  say,  the  system  of  the 
Quakers :  on  the  other  hand,  we  see  rising  up  in  opposition  to 
the  system  of  the  Quakers,  an  order  of  priests,  a  permanent 
clergy ;  in  opposition  to  the  system  of  the  Independents,  a 
general  government  of  the  church  ;  in  opposition  to  the  Pres- 
byterian system,  the  principle  of  inequality  among  the  priests 
themselves,  the  Episcopal  system. 

How  have  these  principles,  so  various,  so  contrary  to  each 
other,  become  developed  ?  To  what  causes  have  been  owing 
he  abasement  of  one,  the  elevation  of  another  ?  And,  first; 
how  was  the  transition  from  a  government,  shared  by  the  bodj 


64  HISTORY    OF 

9f  the  faithful,  to  a  government  vested  in  the  clergy  alone,  ac 
complislied  ?  By  what  progress  did  the  religious  society  pass 
under  the  empire  of  the  ecclesiastical  society  ? 

In  the  revolution  by  which  this  change  was  effected,  the 
ambition  of  the  clergy,  personal  interests,  human  passions,  had 
a  large  share.  I  do  not  seek  to  under-estimate  its  proportion. 
It  is  quite  undeniable  that  all  these  causes  contributed  to  the 
result  which  now  occupies  our  attention  ;  but  yet,  had  there 
been  only  these  causes  at  work,  the  result  would  never  have 
been  realized.  I  have  already  observed,  and  it  is  a  remark  1 
repeat  on  all  available  occasions,  that  no  great  event  is  accom- 
plished by  causes  altogether  illegitimate.  Beneath  these,  or  at 
their  side,  there  are  always  legitimate  causes  in  operation, 
good  and  sound  reasons  why  an  important  fact  should  be  ac- 
complished.     We  have  here  a  fresh  example  of  this. 

It  is,  I  believe,  a  clear  principle — a  principle  generally 
established — that  participation  in  power  presupposes  the  moral 
capacity  to  exercise  it ;  where  the  capacity  is  wanting,  par- 
ticipation in  power  comes  to  an  end,  as  a  matter  of  course. 
The  right  to  exercise  it  continues  virtually  to  reside  in  human 
nature;  but  it  slumbers,  or  rather  rests  only  in  germ,  in  per- 
spective, until  the  capacity  needed  developes  itself,  and  then  it 
awakens  and  developes  itself  with  the  capacity. 

You  will  remember  what  I  said  in  our  last  lecture,  as  to  the 
state  of  Roman  civil  society  in  the  fifth  century.  I  endea- 
vored to  describe  its  profound  decay.  You  saw  the  aris- 
tocratic classes  perishing  away,  their  numbers  immensely  re- 
duced, their  induence  gone — their  virtue  gone. 

Whosoever  amongst  ihem  possessed  any  energy,  any  moral 
activity,  entered  into  the  body  of  the  Christian  clergy.  There 
remained,  in  point  of  fact,  only  the  mere  populace,  the  pleha 
ro/nana,  who  rallied  around  the  priests  and  the  bishops,  and 
formed  the  Christian  people. 

Between  this  people  and  its  new  chiefs,  between  religious 
society  and  ecclesiastical  society,  the  inequality  was  extremely 
great ;  an  inequality  not  only  in  wealth,  in  iutluence,  in  social 
situation,  but  in  information,  in  intellectual  and  moial  develop- 
ment. And  the  more  Christianity,  by  the  mere  fact  of  its  con- 
tinuous duration,  developed  itself,  extended  itself,  elevated 
itself,  tiie  more  this  inequality  increased  and  manifested  itself. 
The  questions  of  faith  and  doctrine  became,  year  after  year, 
more  complex  and  more  difficult  of  solution  ;  the  rules  of 
church  discipline,   her   relations   with   civil   society,   in  like 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  66 

m«nncr  grew  more  extensive  and  complicated  ;  so  thai  In 
order  to  talce  part  in  the  administration  of  its  affairs,  there 
was  requisite,  from  epoch  to  epoch,  a  greater  and  still  greater 
development  of  mind,  of  learning,  of  character ;  in  a  word, 
moral  conditions  more  and  more  elevated,  more  and  more  dif- 
/icult  to  be  met  with  ;  and  yet,  such  was  t.he  general  disorder 
in  society,  such  the  universal  calamity  of  the  period,  that  tho 
moral  condition  of  the  people,  instead  of  growing  better,  and 
of  a  higher  character,  fell  lower  and  lower  every  day. 

We  have  here,  after  having  made  every  allowance  for  the 
part  taken  in  the  change  by  human  passions  and  personal  in- 
terests,  we  have  here,  I  say,  the  true  cause  which  transferred 
religious  society  to  the  empire  of  ecclesiastical  society,  which 
tooic  all  power  from  the  body  of  tlie  faithful  and  gave  it  to  the 
clergy  alone. 

Let  us  inquire  how  this  second  revolution,  of  which  we 
have  seen  the  origin,  was  worked  out.  IIow,  in  the  very 
bosom  of  ecclesiastical  society,  power  passed  from  the  priests 
to  the  bisliops. 

We  have  here  an  important  distinction  to  observe  :  the  po- 
sition of  the  bishops  in  their  diocese,  and  in  relation  to  the 
general  government  of  the  church,  was,  in  the  fifth  century, 
no  longer  what  it  had  been.  Within  his  diocese,  the  bishop 
did  not  govern  by  his  sole  authority  ;  he  required  the  concur- 
rence and  assent  of  his  clergy,  '^his,  indeed,  was  not  an 
absolute  institution  :  the  fact  was  not  regulated  in  any  fixed 
manner,  nor  according  to  permanent  fonns ;  but  the  existence 
of  the  fact  is  manifested  by  every  document  connected  with 
urban  or  diocesan  administration.  The  words,  cvm  assen^u 
c/ericorum,  constantly  recur  in  the  monuments  of  the  period. 
In  questions,  however,  concerning  the  general  government, 
whctlier  of  the  ecclesiastical  province,  or  of  the  church  at 
large,  the  case  was  diflerent  ;  the  bishops  alone  attended  the 
councils,  as  representatives  of  this  government;  when  simple 
priests  appeared  there  it  was  as  delegates  of  their  bishops. 
The  general  government  of  the  church  at  this  period  waa 
entirely  episcopal. 

You  must  not,  however,  attach  to  the  words  which  havf, 
•ust  occurred,  the  meaning  which  they  assumed  at  a  later  pe- 
riod :  you  must  not  imagine  that  each  bishop  went  to  the 
councils  solely  on  his  own  account,  in  virtue  of  hisoft'n  right. 
He  went  there  as  the  representative  of  his  clergy.  The  idea 
hat  the  bishop,  the  natural  chief  of  his  priests,  should  speali 
17 


86  HISTORY    OF 

and  act  eveiy where  on  their  behalf,  and  in  their  name,  was  a 
this  period  prevalent  in  all  minds,  in  the  minds  of  the  bishopa 
themselves,  and  limited  their  power,  while  it  practically  served 
as  a  ladder  whereby  they  ascended  higher  and  higher,  and 
gradually  emancipated  themselves  from  control. 

Another  cause,  and  one  periiaps  still  more  decisive,  limited 
the  councils  to  the  bishops  alone ;  this  was  the  small  number 
of  priests,  and  the  consequent  inconvenience  which  would 
have  arisen  from  their  too  frequent  absence  from  their  posts. 
To  judge  merely  from  tlu2  great  part  which  they  play,  and, 
permit  me  the  expression,  from  the  noise  which  they  make  in 
(he  fifth  century,  one  is  disposed  to  imagine  the  priests  a  very 
numerous  body.  Such  was  not  at  all  the  case :  we  have  posi- 
tive indications,  historical  proofs,  which  sliow  the  contrary. 
In  the  commencement  of  tiie  fifth  century,  for  instance,  we 
meet  with  a  question  as  to  the  number  of  the  priests  at  Rome ; 
and  we  find  it  mentioned,  as  an  illustration  of  the  peculiar 
wealth  and  importance  of  that  city,  that  she  possessed  eighty 
churches  and  seventy-seven  priests. 

The  indirect  proofs  we  have  supply  the  same  conclusions  ; 
the  acts  of  the  councils  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries  are 
full  of  canons  prohibiting  a  simple  clerk  from  going  into  any 
other  diocese  than  his  own  to  be  ordained  ;  a  priest  from  quit- 
ting his  diocese  to  perform  duty  elsewhere,  or  even  from  tra- 
velling at  all  without  the,  consent  of  liis  bishop.'  All  sorts  of 
means  were  adopted  for  keeping  the  priests  in  their  own  im- 
mediate district ;  they  were  watched  with  a  care  amounting 
to  the  oppressive,  so  limited  was  their  number,  so  anxious 
were  the  other  bisliops  to  get  possessicni  of  them.  After  the 
fstablishment  of  the  barbarian  monarchies,  the  Frank  or  Bur- 
gundian  kings,  the  rich  and  more  notable  chiefs,  were  con- 
stantly endeavoring  to  seduce  from  each  other  those  compa- 
nions, those  leudes,  those  anstrustions,  who  constituted  their 
immediate  train,  their  select  guard  :  the  barbarian  laws  are 
full  of  enactments  intended  to  ciieck  these  attempts.  We  find 
the  kings  constantly  undertaking,  in  tiieir  mutual  treaties,  not 
to  invite  to  their  courts,  nor  even  to  receive,  their  respective 
leudes.  The  ecclesiastical  legislation  of  the  fourth  and  fifth 
centuries  exhibits  similar  regulations  with  respect  to  the 
priests,  doubtless,  on  the  same  grounds. 


'  Hec  the  canons  of  the  councils  of  Aries,  in  314  ;  of  Turin,  in  397 
»f  Ailea,  in  450;  of  Tours,  in  1'31 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  01 

it  was  tlirrefore  a  very  serious  affair  for  a  priest  to  quit  on 
a  tlisfnnt  mission  the  church  to  which  lie  was  attaclicd  ;  it  was 
difficult  to  replace  him — the  service  of  religion  suffered  in  hi? 
absence.  The  establishment  of  the  representative  system,  in 
church  as  in  state,  presupposes  a  suflicient  body  of  men  to 
admit  of  one  easily  supplying  the  place  of  another  upon  occa- 
sion,  and  of  their  moving  about  without  inconvenience  to  them- 
selves  or  to  the  society.  Such  was  not  the  case  in  the  fifth 
century;  and  in  order  to  have  procured  the  attendance  at 
councils  of  the  priests,  indemnification  and  coercive  measures 
miL'ht  perhaps  have  been  necessary,  as  they  were  for  a  long 
time  necessary  in  England,  to  bring  the  citizens  to  parliament. 
Everything,  therefore,  tended  to  transfer  the  govcrntnent  of 
t.'ie  church  to  the  bishops  ;  and,  accordingly,  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury, the  episcopal  system  was  almost  in  full  operation. 

As  to  the  system  of  pure  monarchy,  the  only  one  upon 
which  we  have  not  as  yet  remarked,  because  it  is  a  systen) 
which  facts  have  not  as  yet  presented  to  us,  it  was  very  far 
from  dominating  at  this  epoch,  or  even  from  claiming  to  do- 
minate ;  and  the  most  practised  sagacity,  the  most  ardent 
aspirations  of  personal  ambition,  could  not  then  have  foreseen 
its  future  destinies.  Not  that  but  we  see,  even  thus  early, 
the  papacy  increasing  daily  in  consideration  and  influence  ; 
it  is  impossible  to  read  with  impartiality  the  monuments  ol 
the  period,  without  perceiving  that,  from  every  part  of  Europe, 
applications  were  constantly  being  made  to  the  bishop  of 
Rome  for  his  opinion,  nay,  his  decision,  in  matters  of  faith, 
of  discipline,  in  the  trials  of  bishops,  in  a  word,  upon  all  the 
great  occasions  wherein  the  church  is  interested.  Very 
often,  indeed,  it  was  merely  an  opinion  for  which  he  was  asked  ; 
and  when  he  had  given  it,  those  of  the  interested  parties  who 
disapproved  of  his  judgment,  refused  to  abide  by  it;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  was  supported  by  a  more  or  less  powerful 
party,  and,  as  a  general  result,  his  preponderance  became 
more  and  more  decided  after  every  one  of  their  appeals. 
'J'here  were  two  causes  which  more  especially  contributed  to 
produce  these  references  to  the  bishop  of  Rome:  on  the  one 
hand,  the  patriarchate  principle  still  held  sway  in  the  church; 
Bbove  bishops  and  archbishops,  with  privileges  more  nominal 
than  real,  but  still  generally  admitted  in  theory,  there  was  a 
patriarch  )>residing.  The  east  had  several  patriarchs,  the 
oatriarch  of  Jerusalem,  the  patriarch  of  Antioch,  the  patri- 
irch  of  Constantinople,  of  Alexandria.  In  the  west  there 
25 


88  HISTORY    OF 

was  but  ono  patnarcli,  the  bishop  of  Rome  ;  and  this  circum 
stance  had  a  great  siiare  in  the  exclusive  elevation  of  the 
papacy.  The  tradition,  moreover,  that  St.  Peter  had  been 
bishop  of  Rome,  and  the  idea  that  the  popes  were  his  suc- 
cessors, already  strongly  possessed  the  minds  of  the  wester: 
Christians. 

We  thus  clearly  trace,  in  the  first  five  ages,  the  historical 
foundations  of  all  the  systems  which  have  been  cited  or  ap- 
plied,  both  as  to  the  internal  organization,  and  as  to  the  exter- 
nal position  of  the  religious  society.  These  systems  are  far 
from  being  of  the  same  importance;  some  of  them  hav»"i  only 
appeared,  in  passing,  as  mere  transitory,  accidental  circum. 
stances ;  the  others  have  remained  for  a  long  time  in  germ, 
^ave  developed  themselves  slowly  and  deliberately  ;  they  are 
of  dilferent  dates,  and,  as  I  have  said,  of  very  various  import- 
ance ;  but  they  are  all  connected  with  some  fact,  they  can  all 
cite  some  authority. 

When  we  seek  what  principles  prevailed  amidst  this  variety 
of  principles,  what  great  results  were  accomplished  in  the 
fifth  century,  we  discover  the  following  facts: — 

1.  The  separadon  of  the  religious  society  and  of  the  eccle- 
siastical society :  a  result  more  especially  due  to  the  extreme 
intellectual  and  jocial  inequality  which  existed  between  the 
people  and  the  Christian  clergy. 

2.  The  predoiuinance  of  the  aristocratic  system  in  the  in- 
terior  organization  of  the  ecclesiastical  society  :  the  interven- 
tion of  simple  priests  in  the  government  of  the  church  became 
less  and  less  frequent,  less  and  less  influential ;  |)ower  con- 
centrated itself  more  and  more  in  the  hands  of  the  bishops. 

3.  Finally,  as  to  the  relations  of  the  religious  society  with 
the  civil  society  of  the  church,  with  the  state,  the  system  in 
iorce  was  that  of  alliance,  of  intercourse  b(;lween  powers 
distinct,  but  in  perpetual  contact  with  each  other. 

These  are  the  three  great  features  which  characterize  the 
state  of  the  church  at  the  commencement  of  the  fifth  century. 
At  the  bare  statement  of  them,  in  their  general  appearance 
alone,  it  is  impossible  not  to  perceive  the  germs  of  danger, 
on  the  one  hand,  in  the  bosom  of  the  religious  society,  to  the 
liberty  of  the  body  of  the  faithful,  and  in  the  bosom  of  the 
ecclesiastical  society  to  the  liberty  of  the  body  of  the  clergy. 
•The  almost  exclusive  predominance  of  the  priests  over  the 
faithful,  and  of  the  bishops  over  the  priests,  gave  clear  pre. 
3tt{»e  of  the  abuses  of  power  and  of  the  disorders  of  revohi 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  60 

tions.  Tlio  men  of  the  fifth  century,  howci'er,  though  they 
niicht  well  have  couceivcd  such  fears,  had  no  notion  what- 
ever of  them  ;  the  Christian  society  of  tl)at  period  was  wholly 
absorbed  in  regulating  itself,  in  constituting  itself  a  fixed  and 
determinate  body  ;  it  required,  beyond  all  things,  order,  law, 
government ;  and  despite  the  dangerous  tendency  of  some  of 
the  principles  which  then  prevailed,  the  liberties,  both  of  the 
people  in  the  religious  society,  and  of  the  simple  priests  in 
the  ecclesiastical  society,  were  not  without  reality  and  secur- 

The  first  consisted  in  the  election  of  the  bishops,  a  fact 
which  I  need  not  seek  to  establish,  for  it  is  perfectly  self- 
evident,  to  any  otic  who  hut  glances  over  the  monuments  of 
the  period.  This  election  was  conducted  neither  according 
to  general  rules,  nor  with  permanent  forms  ;  it  was  altogether 
irregular,  various,  and  influenced  by  fortuitous  circumstances. 
In  374,  the  bishop  of  Milan,  Auxentius,  an  Arian  in  his 
opinions,  being  dead,  his  successor  was  about  to  be  elected  in 
the  cathedral. 

The  people,  the  clergy,  the  bishops  of  the  province,  were 
all  there,  and  all  very  animated  ;  the  two  parties,  the  orthodox 
and  the  Arians,  each  wished  to  nominate  a  bishop.  The 
tumult  ended  in  a  violent  confusion.  A  governor  had  just 
arrived  at  Milan,  in  the  name  of  the  emperor  ;  he  was  a  young 
man  named  Ambrose.  Informed  of  the  tumult,  he  repaired 
to  the  church  in  order  to  quiet  it ;  his  words,  his  air,  were 
pleasinfT  to  the  people.  Me  had  a  good  reputation  :  a  voice 
arose  in  the  midst  of  the  church — according  to  tradition,  the 
voice  of  a  child  ;  it  cried,  "  Let  Ambrose  be  nominated 
bishop  !"  And,  forthwith,  Ambrose  was  nominated  bishop  ; 
he  afterwards  became  Saint  Ambrose. 

This  is  an  example  of  the  manner  in  which  episcopal  elec- 
tions were  still  made  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  century.  It  is 
true  they  were  not  all  so  disorderly  and  sudden  ;  but  these 
characteristics  did  not  shock  or  astonish  any  one,  and  the  day 
following  his  elevation.  Saint  Ambrose  was  acknowledged  by 
all  to  be  properly  elected.  Would  you  wish  that  we  should 
look  to  a  posterior  epoch,  to  the  end  of  the  fifth  century,  foi 
example  ?  I  open  the  collection  of  the  letters  of  Sidonius 
ApoUinarius,  the  most  curious,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  mos« 
authentic  monument  of  the  manners  of  that  time,  especially 
the  manners  of  religious  society  ;  Sidonius  was  bishop  of 
Clermont ;  he  himself  collected  and  revised  his  letters;  wha 


rO  HISTORY    OF 

we  find  there  written  is  exactly  wliat  he  wished  to  bequeatki 
to  posterity.  Hero  is  a  letter  which  he  addressed  to  hia 
frifind  Domnulus. 

"  SIDONIUS    TO    His    DEAR    DOMNULUS  ;    HEALTH. 

"  Since  you  desire  to  know  what  our  father  in  Christ, 
the  Pontiff  Patient,^  with  his  customary  piety  and  firmness, 
has  dc.ie  at  ChSilons,  I  can  no  longer  delay  causing  you 
to  share  our  great  joy.  He  arrived  in  this  town,  partly 
preceded  and  partly  followed  by  the  bishops  of  the  province, 
assembled,  in  order  to  give  a  chief  to  the  church  of  this  city, 
so  troubled  and  unsteady  in  its  discipline  since  the  retire- 
ment and  deatii  of  bishop  Paul. 

"  The  assembly  found  various  factions  in  the  town,  all  those 
private  intrigues  which  can  never  be  formed  but  to  the  detri- 
ment of  public  welfare,  and  which  were  excited  by  a  trium- 
virate of  competitors.  One  of  them,  destitute  of  all  virtue, 
made  a  parade  of  his  antique  race ;  another,  like  a  new  Apicius, 
got  himself  supported  by  the  applause  and  clamors  of  noisy 
parasites,  gained  by  the  agency  of  his  kitchen  ;  a  third  engaged 
himself  by  a  secret  bargain,  if  he  attained  the  object  of  his 
ambition,  to  abandon  the  domains  of  the  church  to  the  pillage 
of  his  partisans.  Saint  Patient  and  Saint  Euplironius,^  who, 
setting  aside  all  aversion  and  all  favor,  were  the  first  to 
maintain  firmly  and  rigidly  the  most  sound  views,  were  not 
long  in  learning  the  state  of  things.  Before  manifesting 
anything  in  public,  they  first  held  counsel  in  secret  with  tbo 
bishops  their  colleagues ;  then,  braving  tlie  cries  of  a  mob 
of  furies,  they  suddenly  nominated,  without  his  having  formed 
any  desire  or  having  any  idea  of  being  elected,  a  pious  man 
named  John,  commendable  from  his  honesty,  charity,  and 
mildness.  John  had  first  been  a  reader,  and  had  served  at 
the  altar  from  bis  infancy  ;  after  much  time  and  labor,  he 
became  an  archdeacon.  ...  lie  was,  therefore,  a  priest  only 
of  the  second  order,  and  amidst  these  furious  factions  no 
one  exalted  by  his  praise  a  man  who  asked  nothing  ;  but 
neither  drd  any  one  dare  to  accuse  a  man  who  merited  only 
eulogies.     Our  bishops  have  proclaimed  him  their  colleague, 


•  Book  IV..  Letter  25  *  Bishop  ci  T.vons 

•  Bishop  of  Autun. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  7l 

to  the  great  astonishment  of  the  intriguers,  to  the  extreme 
confusion  of  the  wicked,  but  with  the  acclamations  of  good 
mm,  and  without  any  person  daring  or  wishing  to  oppose 
hi.n." 

Just  now  we  were  at  a  popular  election  ;  here  is  one  equally 
irregular  and  unforeseen,  brought  about  at  once,  in  the  midst 
of  the  people,  by  two  pious  bishops.  Here  is  a  third,  if  pos- 
sible, still  more  singular.  Sidonius  himself  is  at  once  the 
narrator  and  actor  of  it. 

The  bishop  of  Bourges  was  dead  :  such  was  the  ardor  ol 
the  competitors  and  their  factions,  that  the  town  was  thrown 
into  disorder  by  them,  and  could  find  no  means  of  coming  to 
a  decision.  The  inhabitants  of  Bourges  thought  of  address- 
ing themselves  to  Sidonius,  illustrious  throughout  Gaul  for 
his  birth,  wealth,  eloquence,  and  knowledge,  long  since  in- 
vested with  the  highest  civil  functions,  and  recently  nomi 
natcd  bishop  of  Clermont.  They  begged  him  to  choos' 
them  a  bishop,  almost  in  the  same  way  as,  in  the  inJ'ancy  of 
the  Greek  republics,  the  people,  tired  of  civil  storms  and  its 
own  powerlessness,  sought  a  foreign  sage  to  give  them  laws. 
Sidonius,  rather  surprised  at  first,  nevertheless  consented, 
assured  himself  of  the  concurrence  of  the  bishops,  who  would 
have  to  ordain  the  person  whom  he  alone  had  the  charge  of 
electing,  and  repairing  to  Bourges,  assembled  the  people  in  the 
cathedral.  I  will  cite  the  letter  in  which  he  gives  an  accounJ 
of  the  whole  affair  to  Perpetuus,  bishop  of  Tours,  and  sends 
him  the  discourse  which  he  pronounced  in  this  assembly  ; 
they  are  both  rather  lengthy  ;  but  this  mixture  of  rhetoric  and 
religion,  these  literary  puerilities  amidst  the  most  animateo 
scenes  of  real  life,  this  confusion  of  the  bel  esprit  and  of  the 
bishop,  make  this  singular  society  better  known  than  all  thf- 
dissertations  in  the  world  ;  this  society  at  once  old  and  young 
in  decline  and  in  progress  :  1  shall  only  here  and  there  omit  a 
passage  without  interest. 

"SIDONIUS   TO   THE    LORD    POPE   PERPETUUS  J    HEALTH.' 

"  In  your  zeal  for  spiritual  reading,  you  go  so  far  as  to 
wish  to  become  acquainted  with  writings  which  dre  not  \v 
any  way  worthy  of  your  attention,  or  of  exercising  your  judg 


»  Book  Vir..  Letter  9. 


12  HISTORY    OF 

nient.  You  this  ask  me  to  send  you  the  discourse  v  hich  1 
delivered  in  the  church  to  the  people  of  Bourges,  a  discourse 
to  which  neitlier  the  divisions  of  rhetoric,  nor  the  movementa 
of  the  oratorical  art,  nor  grammatical  figures,  have  lent 
fitting  elegance  or  regularity  ;  for  on  this  occasion  1  was 
unable  to  combine,  according  to  the  general  usage  of  orators, 
tlie  grave  testimonies  of  history,  the  fictions  of  poets,  the 
flashes  of  controversy.  The  seditions,  cabals,  and  difTerences 
of  parties,  hurried  me  away  ;  and  if  the  occasion  furnisiied 
me  with  ample  materials,  affairs  did  not  allow  me  time  to 
meditate  upon  them.  There  was  such  a  crowd  of  competitors, 
that  two  benches  could  not  accon;modate  all  the  candidates 
for  a  single  see  ;  all  were  pleasing  to  themselves,  and  each 
displeasing  to  the  rest.  We  could  not  even  have  don.e  any- 
thing for  the  common  good,  if  the  people,  more  calm,  had 
not  renounced  its  own  judgment  in  order  to  submit  itself  to 
that  of  the  bishops.  A  few  priests  whispered  in  a  corner, 
but  in  public  not  a  sound  of  disapprobation  was  heard  from 
them,  for  the  greater  part  dreaded  their  own  order  no  less 
'.han  the  other  orders.  .  .  .  Accept,  then,  this  sheet :  I  have 
dictated  it,  Christ  is  witness,  in  two  watclies  of  a  summer 
night ;  but  I  much  fear  that  in  reading  it  you  will  think  more 
of  it  than  I  propose. 

"  THE    DISCOURSE. 

"  Dearly  beloved,  profane  history  reports  that  a  certain 
philosopher  taught  his  disciples  patience  in  keeping  silence, 
before  he  disclosed  to  them  the  art  of  speaking,  and  that  for  this 
purpose  all  novices  observed  a  rigorous  silence  for  five  years, 
amid  the  discussior.s  of  their  co-disciples  ;  so  tliat  the  most 
prompt  minds  could  not  be  praised  until  a  suitable  time 
had  elapsed  for  them  to  be  understood.  With  regard  to  my- 
self, my  weakness  is  reserved  for  a  very  diflerent  condition,  1 
who,  befljre  having  filled  with  any  man  the  more  humble  func- 
tion of  disciple,  see  myself  obliged  to  undertake  with  you 
the  task  of  doctor.'  .  .  .  But  since  it  is  your  pleasure  in  youi 
error,  to  wish  that  I,  devoid  of  wisdom,  should  seek  f(>r 
YOU,  with  the  aid  of  Christ,  a  bishop  full  of  wisdom,  and 
in  whose  person  all  kinds  of  virtues  are  to  be   united,  know 


Sidonius  had  just  been  nominated  bishop  ;  towards  tlie  end  of  471 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  78 

that  your  agreement  in  this  desire,  while   it  does  me  greaf 
honor,  also  imposes  upon  me  a  great  burden.  .  .  . 

"  And  first,  it  is  necessary,  that  you  should  know  whai 
torrents  of  injuries  await  me,  and  to  what  hayings  of  human 
voices  the  crowd  of  pretenders  will  give  way  against  you.  .  . 
If  I  should  nominate  one  from  among  the  monks,  if  he 
were  even  comparable  with  Paul,  with  Auton,  Ililarius,  or 
Macarius,  already  do  I  feel  resounding  round  my  ears  the 
noisy  murmurs  of  an  ignoble  crowd  of  pigmies  who  complain, 
saying  :  '  ho  they  have  nominated,  fills  the  functions,  not  of 
a  bisiiop,  but  of  an  abbot ;  he  is  far  more  fitted  to  intercede 
for  souls  with  the  celestial  judge,  than  for  bodies  before  the 
judges  upon  earth.'  Who  will  not  be  profoundly  irritated, 
at  seeing  the  most  sincere  virtues  represented  as  vices  ?  If 
we  select  an  humble  man,  they  will  call  him  abject ;  if 
we  select  one  of  a  proud  character  they  will  treat  him  as 
haughty;  if  we  propose  a  man  with  but  little  enlightenment, 
his  ignorance  will  bring  ridicule  upon  him  ;  if,  on  the  con- 
trary, he  is  a  scholar,  his  learning  will  be  called  puffed  up 
pride  ;  if  he  be  austere,  they  will  hate  him  as  cruel ;  if  he  be 
nidulgent,  they  will  accuse  him  of  too  great  facility  ;  if  simple, 
they  will  disdain  him  as  a  beast;  if  full  of  penetration, 
they  will  reject  him  as  cunning ;  if  he  be  exact,  they  will 
call  him  peddling  ;  if  easy,  they  will  call  him  negligent ;  if  he 
has  an  astute  mind,  they  will  declare  he  is  ambitious ;  if 
tranquil  in  his  manner,  ihey  will  reckon  him  lazy  ;  if  sober, 
they  will  cake  him  to  be  avaricious;  if  ho  cat  in  order  to 
nourish  himself,  they  will  accuse  him  of  gormandizing  ;  if  he 
fast  regularly,  they  will  tax  hirn  with  ostentation.  .  .  .  Thus, 
in  whatever  manner  one  lives,  good  conduct  and  good  quali- 
ties will  always  be  abandoned  to  the  keen  tongu^  of  slander, 
which  '•esemble  hooks  with  two  barbs.  And  moreover,  the 
people  in  its  stubbornness,  the  priests  in  their  indocility,  are 
with  difficulty  brought  under  monastic  discipline. 

"  If  I  nominate  a  priest,  those  who  have  been  ordained  after 
him  will  be  jealous,  those  who  have  been  ordained  before  him 
will  defame  him  ;  for  among  them  there  are  some  (and  be  it 
paid  without  offence  to  others)  who  think  that  the  length  of  the 
duration  of  priesthood  is  the  only  measure  of  merit,  and  who 
consequently  wish,  that  in  the  election  of  a  prelate  we  should 
proceed  not  with  a  view  to  the  common  welfare,  but  accord 
'Dg  to  age  .  .  . 

"  If.  bv  chance,  T  were  to  point  out  to  you  a  man  who  bad 


^4  HISTORY    OF 

filled  military  offices,  1  should  soon  hear  these  words:  ''Sido 
nius,  because  he  lias  passed  from  the  secular  functions  to  the 
spiritual,  will  not  take  a  man  from  the  religious  order  for  a 
bishop;  proud  of  his  birth,  raised  to  the  first  rank  by  the  in- 
signia of  his  dignities,  he  scorns  the  poor  in  Christ.'  It  is  foi 
this  reason  that  I  at  once  make  the  declaration  which  I  owe. 
not  so  much  to  the  charity  of  good  people,  as  to  the  suspiciona 
of  the  wicked.  In  tiie  name  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  our  Almighty 
God,  who,  by  the  voice  of  Peter,  condemned  Simon  the  ma- 
gician for  having  thought  that  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
could  be  bought  with  gold,  I  declare"  that,  in  the  choice  of  the 
man  wiiom  I  believed  most  worthy,  I  iiave  not  been  influenced 
by  either  money  or  favor  ;  and  that,  after  having  examined 
as  mucii  and  even  more  than  was  necessary,  tiie  individual, 
tlie  time,  the  province,  and  the  town,  I  have  judged  that  he 
who  was  the  best  suited  to  be  given  to  you,  is  the  man  whose 
life  I  shall  review  in  a  kw  words. 

"  Simplicius,  blessed  of  God,  answers  to  the  wishes  of  the 
two  orders  both  by  his  conduct  and  profession;  the  republic 
may  find  in  him  much  to  admire,  the  church  much  to  cherish. 
If  we  would  bear  respect  to  birth  (and  the  Evangelist  iiimself 
has  proved  to  us  that  this  consideration  must  not  be  neglected, 
for  Luke,  in  beginning  tlie  eulogy  of  John,  reckons  it  a  great 
advantage  that  he  descended  from  a  sacerdotal  race),  the  rela- 
tions of  Simplicius  have  presided  in  the  church  and  in  the  tri- 
bunals ;  his  family  has  been  illustrious  in  bishops  and  pre- 
lates;  so  that  his  ancestors  have  always  been  in  possession  of 
the  power  of  carrying  out  the  laws,  both  human  and  divine  .  .  . 
If  we  look  to  his  age,  he  has  at  once  all  tlie  activity  of  youth 
and  the  prudence  of  age  .  .  .  If  charity  be  desired,  he  has 
shown  it  in  profusion  to  the  citizen,  the  priest,  and  the  pilgrim, 
to  the  common  people  as  to  the  great;  and  his  bread  has  been 
more  frequently  and  the  rather  tasted  by  him  who  gave  nothing 
in  return.  If  the  fulfilment  of  a  mission  be  necessary,  more 
than  once  has  Simplicius  presented  Iiimself  for  your  town, 
before  kings  covered  with  ermine  and  before  princes  adorneci 
with  purple.  .  .  I  iiad  almost  forgotten  to  speak  of  a  thing 
which,  notwithstanding,  should  not  be  omitted.  Formerly,  in 
those  ancient  times  of  Moses,  according  to  the  Psalmist,  when 
it  was  necessary  to  elevate  the  ark  of  the  covenant,  all  Israel, 
in  the  desert,  heaped  the  produce  of  its  oflerings  at  the  feet  of 
Beseleel.  Afterwards,  Solomon,  in  order  to  constrtict  the 
temple  of  Jerusalem,  put  in  motion   the  whole  force  of  th* 


CIVILIZATION    IN    I  RANGE.  th 

^K-ople,  although  he  had  united  the  gifts  of  the  queen  of  the 
southern  country  of  Saba  to  the  riches  of  Palestine,  and  to  the 
tributes  of  ti)o  neighboring  kings.  Simplicius,  young,  a  sol- 
dier, unaided,  still  under  the  paternal  roof,  though  already  a 
father,  has  also  constructed  you  a  church  ;  he  was  arrested  in 
his  pious  work,  neither  by  the  attachment  of  old  men  to  their 
property,  nor  by  consideration  for  his  young  children  ;  and 
still  his  modesty  is  such  that  he  has  kept  silence  upon  this 
subject.  And  in  fact,  if  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  this  man 
is  a  stranger  to  all  popular  ambition  ;  he  seeks  not  the  favoi 
of  all,  but  only  that  of  good  men  ;  he  does  not  lower  himself 
to  an  imprudent  familiarity,  but  he  attaches  a  high  value  to 
solid  friendships.  .  .  .  Lastly,  hn  should  especially  be  desired 
for  a  bishop,  because  he  is  not  in  the  least  desirous  of  it;  he 
labors  not  to  obtain  the  priesthood,  but  to  deserve  it. 

"  Some  one  will,  perhaps,  say  to  me,  But  how,  in  so  short  a 
lime,  have  you  learned  so  much  concerning  this  man  ?  I  will 
answer  him  :  I  knew  the  inhabitants  of  Bourges  before  know- 
ing the  town.  I  have  learnt  much  of  them  on  my  road,  in  the 
military  service,  in  the  relations  of  money  and  affairs,  in  their 
travels  and  mine.  One  also  learns  much  of  things  from  pub- 
lic opinion,  for  nature  does  not  confine  fame  to  the  narrow 
limits  of  a  particular  country. 

"The  wife  of  Simplicius  descends  from  the  family  of  the 
Palladii,  who  have  occupied  professorships  of  letters  and 
served  altars,  with  the  approbation  of  their  order;  and  as  the 
character  of  a  matron  should  only  be  called  back  succinctly 
and  with  modesty,  I  shall  content  myself  with  affirming  that 
this  lady  worthily  responds  to  the  merit  and  honors  of  the  two 
families,  whether  of  that  where  she  was  born  and  has  grown 
up,  or  of  that  into  which  she  has  passed  by  an  honorable 
choice.  Both  bring  up  their  sons  worthily  and  with  all  wis- 
dom, and  the  father,  in  comparing  them  with  himself,  finds  a 
new  subject  of  happiness  that  his  children  already  surpass 
himself. 

"  And  since  you  have  sworn  to  acknowledge  and  accept  mj' 
declaration  upon  the  subject  of  this  election,  in  the  name  of 
the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  Simplicius  is  he 
whom  I  declare  bishop  of  our  province,  and  sovereign  ponlifl" 
of  your  town.  With  regard  to  yourselves,  if  you  adopt  my 
decision  concerning  the  man  whom  I  have  been  speaking  of 
approve  it  conformably  to  your  first  erigagements." 

Ft  is  needless  to  add  more ;  these  three  examples  are  full) 


16 


HISTORY    OF 


Biiificient  thoroughly  to  explain  what  the  election  of  Dishojva 
was  in  the  fifth  century.  Without  doubt  it  possessed  iiune  of 
the  characteristics  of  a  veritable  constitution;  devoid  of  rules, 
of  permanent  and  legal  forms,  abandoned  to  the  chance  of 
r.ircumstances  and  passions,  it  was  not  one  of  those  powerful 
.iberties  before  which  a  long  future  opens  itself,  but,  for  the 
time  being,  it  was  a  genuine  reality  ;  it  led  to  a  great  move, 
nient  in  the  interior  of  cities ;  it  was  an  efficacious  guarantee, 

Tiiere  was  a  second,  the  frequent  holding  of  councils.  The 
general  government  of  the  church,  at  this  epoch,  was  com- 
pletely in  the  hands  of  the  councils — general,  national,  pro- 
vincial  councils.  They  there  discussed  questions  of  faith  and 
discipline,  the  actions  of  bishops,  all  tlie  great  or  difficult 
affairs  of  the  church.  In  the  course  of  the  fourth  century,  we 
find  fifteen  councils,  and  in  the  fiftii  century  twenty-five  ;'  and 
these  are  only  the  principal  councils,  tliose  of  which  written 
notices  have  been  left ;  tliere  were  certainly  besides  a  large 
number  of  local  councils,  of  short  duration,  which  have  left  no 
monument,  of  which  even  the  recollection  is  lost. 

An  indirect  evidence  shows  tiie  importance  of  councils  at 
this  epocii.  Every  one  knows  that,  in  England,  in  the  origin 
of  representative  government,  at  the  time  of  the  formation  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  many  statutes  were  made,  prescribing 


'  Lint  of  the  princip  il  Councils  of  the  Fourth  Century. 


Date. 

Place. 

Present. 

31-1 

Aries      .... 

(  33  bishops,    14    priests,  25 
\      8  -eaders  or  exorcists. 

deacons, 

346 

Cologne            .   -. 

14  bishops,  10  delegate  priests 

353 

Aries      .... 

355 

Poitiers  .          .     . 

The  bishops  of  Gaul. 

356 

Beziers  .     . 

35S 

Vaison    .... 

Ibid. 

358 

Place  unknown     . 

Ibid. 

300 

Place  unknown    . 

Ibid. 

362 

Paris       .... 

Ibid. 

374 

Valencia      .     . 

21  bishops. 

385 

Bordeaux    .     .     . 

r 

386 

Trfeves    .     .     . 

386 

Place  unknown 

The  bishopa  of  Qaul. 

• 

387 

Nimes    .     . 

397 

Turia               .     . 

I 

13 

.    1 
i 

CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


n 


I'le  regu  ar  and  frequent  holding  of  parliaments.  The  samf 
fact  appears,  at  the  fifth  century,  with  regard  (o  councils 
Many  canons — among  otheis,  those  of  the  council  of  Orange, 
held  in  441 — enact  that  a  council,  shall  never  separate  with- 
out indicating  the  following  council  and  that,  if  the  misfortunes 
of  the  times  prevent  them  from  holding  a  council  twice  a 
year,  according  to  the  canons,  all  possible  precautions  shal' 
be  taken  to  insure  that  no  long  period  shall  elapse  with- 
out one. 

Thus  the  two  great  guarantees  of  liberty  in  society,  election 
and  discussion,  existed,  in  fact,  in  the  ecclesiastical  society 
of  the  fifth  century — disordered,  it  is  true,  incomplete,  preca- 
rious, as  after  times  have  clearly  proved,  for  the  time  being, 
real  and  powerful,  at  once  the  cause  and  the  evidence  of  the 
movement  and  ardor  of  mind. 


List  of  the  principal 

Councils  of  the  Fifth  Century. 

Vate. 

Place. 

Present. 

406 

Toulouse  .     .     .     . 

The  bishops  of  Gaul. 

419 

Valencia    .     .     .     . 

Ibid. 

429 

Place  uncertain  . 

439 

Riez 

13  bishops,  1  delegate  priest. 

441 

Orange       .     .     .     . 

16  bishops,  1  priest. 

442 

Vaison  ... 

444 

Place  uncertain  .     . 

4r)i 

Place  uncertain  .     . 

452 

Aries 

44  bishops. 

452 

Narbonne  .... 

The  bishops  of  Narbonnensis  pri? 

la. 

453 

Angers. 

8  bishops. 

454 

Bourges     .     . 

The  bishops  of  Gaul. 

455 

Aries    . 

13  bishops. 

460 

Lyons   .     .     . 

461 

Tours    .     . 

S  bishops,  1  delegate  priest 
1  bishop,  subscribed  afterwards. 

463 

Aries    ... 

19  bishops. 

465 

Vannes      .     .     .      . 

6  bishops. 

470 

Chalong-!Jur-Saone . 

The  bishops  of  the  Lyonnese. 

472 

Bourges     .     .     .     . 

474 

Vienne      .     .     .     . 

475 

Aries 

30  bishops 

475 

Lyons   

495 

Lyons  

496 

Reims  .               .     ." 

499 

Lyons  . 

8  bishops. 

25 

I 

/9  HISTORY    OF 

Now,  let  us  put  this  state  of  the  religious  society  by  the 
side  of  the  civil  society  which  I  endeavored  to  picture  in  our 
last  meeting.  I  shall  not  stay  to  deduce  the  consequences 
of  this  comparison  J  they  hasten  before  the  eyes,  and  already 
must  be  recognized.     I  shdll  recapitulate  them  thus  : 

In  the  civil  society,  there  is  no  people  nor  government  ; 
ths  imperial  administration  is  fallen,  the  senatorial  aristocracy 
is  fallen,  the  municipal  aristocracy  is  fallen  ;  everywhere 
there  is  dissolution  ;  power  and  liberty  are  struck  by  tho 
same  sterility,  the  same  nullity.  In  I'eligious  society,  on  tiie 
contrary,  a  very  animated  people  and  a  very  active  govern- 
ment show  themselves.  The  causes  of  anarchy  and  tyranny 
are  numerous,  but  liberty  is  real,  and  power  also.  Every- 
wijere,  the  germs  of  a  very  energetic  popular  activity,  and  a 
very  strong  government,  develope  themselves.  It  is,  in  a  word, 
a  society  replete  with  the  future,  a  stormy  future,  charged 
with  good  and  with  evil,  but  powerful  and  fertile. 

Do  you  wish  that  we  should  prosecute  this  comparison  any 
further  ?  We  have  hitherto  considered  only  general  facts,  the 
public  life,  so  to  speak,  of  the  two  societies.  Do  you  wisii 
that  we  should  penetrate  into  the  domestic  life,  into  the  inte- 
rior of  houses  ?  that  we  should  seek  how,  on  the  one  side,  men 
of  note  in  civil  society,  and  on  the  other  the  chiefs  of  the  re- 
ligious  society,  are  employed,  how  they  pass  their  time  ?  It 
is  worth  while  to  address  this  question  to  the  fifth  century, 
because  its  answer  cannot  bu/.  be  instructive. 

At  the  end  of  the  fourth  and  in  the  fifth  century,  tliere 
was  in  Gaul  a  large  number  of  important  and  honored  men, 
long  invested  «  tth  the  great  cliarges  of  the  state,  semi, 
pagans,  semi-Cliristians, — that  is,  having  taken  no  part,  and 
.not  wishing  to  take  any  part  in  religious  matters  ;  men  ol 
mind,  literati,  philosophers,  full  of  desire  for  study  and  in- 
tellectual pursuits;  rich,  and  living  in  magnificence.  Such, 
at  Ihe  end  of  the  fourth  century,  was  the  poet  Ausonius,  couni 
3f  tlie  imperial  palace,  questor,  prutorian-prefect,  consul,  and 
who  possessed  mucii  beautiful  property  in  Saintonge  and  near 
Bourdeaux  ;  sucii,  at  tiie  end  of  the  fifth  century,  was  To- 
nance  Ferreol,  prefect  of  Gaul,  in  great  credit  with  the  kings 
of  the  Visigotiis,  and  whose  domains  were  situated  in  Lan- 
guedoc  and  Rouergue,  upon  the  borders  of  the  Gardon,  and 
noai  MiUiau  ;  Eutropius,  also  prefect  of  the  Gauls,  a  plato- 
riist  by  profession,  who  lived  in  Auvergne  ;  Consencius,  of 
Narbonne,  one  of  the  richest  citizens  of  the  south,  and  whose 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  •  7fll 

country  house,  callod  Oclaviana,  situated  upon  the  road  to 
Beziers,  passed  for  tlie  most  magnificent  in  tiie  province. 
These  were  the  great  lords  of  Roman  Gaul  ;  after  having 
occupied  the  superior  posts  of  the  country,  they  lived  upon 
their  estates  far  from  the  mass  of  the  population,  passing  theii 
time  in  the  chase,  or  fishing,  in  amusements  of  all  kinds; 
ihey  had  fine  libraries,  often  a  theatre,  where  they  played  the 
dratnas  of  some  Rhetor,  their  client  :  the  rhetorician,  Paul, 
had  his  comedy,  the  Deliriiis,  played  at  the  house  of  Auso- 
nius,  composed  himself  the  music  for  the  interludes,  and  pre- 
sided at  the  representation.  At  these  entertainments  were 
combined  intellectual  discussions,  literary  conversation  ;  the 
merits  of  the  ancient  authors  were  canvassed  ;  their  works 
examined,  commented  upon  ;  the  guests  made  verses  upon  all 
the  petty  incidents  of  life.  In  this  way  passed  time,  agreea- 
ble,  smooth,  varied,  but  enervated,  egoistical,  sterile  ;  stranger 
to  all  serious  occupation,  to  all  powerful  and  general  interest. 
And  I  speak  here  of  the  most  honorable  remnant  of  the  Ro- 
man society,  of  men  who  were  neither  corrupt,  profligate,  nor 
debased,  who  cultivated  their  intellect,  and  who  were  disgusted 
with  the  servile  manners  and  the  decay  of  their  age. 

See  what  was  the  life  of  a  bishop ;  for  example,  of  Saint 
Hilary,  bishop  of  Aries,  and  of  Saint  Loup,  bishop  of  Troyes, 
at  the  commencement  of  the  fifth  century. 

Saint  Hilary  arose  very  early  in  the  morning:  he  always 
dwelt  in  the  town  ;  from  the  time  that  he  arose,  any  one  who 
wished  to  see  him  was  received.  He  heard  complaints,  ad- 
justed difTerences,  performed  the  office  of  a  justice  of  the 
peace.  He  afterwards  repaired  to  the  church,  performed  ser- 
vice, preached,  taught,  sometimes  many  hours  consecutively. 
Retu -ned  home,  he  took  his  repast,  and  while  this  lasted  he 
heard  some  pious  reading  ;  or  else  he  dictated,  and  the  people 
often  entered  freely,  and  listened.  He  also  performed  manual 
labor,  sometimes  spinning  for  the  poor,  sometimes  cultivating 
tlie  fields  of  his  church.  Thus  passed  his  day,  in  the  midst 
of  the  peo[)lc,  in  grave,  useful  occupations,  of  a  public  interest, 
which,  every  hour,  had  some  result. 

The  life  of  Saint  Loup  was  not  exactly  the  same  ;  his 
.Tianners  were  more  austere,  his  activity  less  varied  ;  he  lived 
severely;  and  the  rigidity  of  his  conduct,  the  assiduity  ofhia 
prayers,  were  incessantly  celebrated  by  his  contemporaries. 
Thus  he  exercised  more  ascendency  by  his  general  example 
han  by  his  actions  in  detail.     He  struck  the  imagination  of 


80  IIISTOUY    01 

men  to  such  a  point,  that  according  to  a  tradition,  the  liutli  of 
which  is  of  liltle  importance — true  or  false,  it  equally  show: 
contemporaneous  opinion — Attila,  in  quitting  Gaul,  carried 
Saint  Loup  with  him  to  thft  banks  of  the  Rhine,  supposing 
that  so  sainted  a  man  would  protect  his  army.  Saint  Loup 
was  besides  of  a  cultivated  mind,  and  took  an  active  interest 
in  intellectual  development.  He  was  solicitous  in  his  dioceso 
about  schools  and  pious  reading  ;  and  when  it  was  necessary 
to  go  and  contend  against  the  doctrines  of  Pelagius  in 
Britain,  it  was  upon  his  eloquence,  as  well  as  that  of  Saint 
Germain  d'Auxerre,  that  the  council  of  429  confided  for  suo 
cess. 

What  more  need  be  said  ?  the  facts  speak  clearly  ;  between 
the  great  lords  of  the  Roman  society  and  the  bishops,  it  is 
not  difficult  to  say  where  the  power  was,  to  whom  the  future 
belonged. 

I  will  add  one  fact,  indispensable  to  the  completion  of  thii^ 
picture  of  Gaulish  society  in  the  fifth  century,  and  of  its  sin- 
gular state. 

The  two  classes  of  men,  the  two  kinds  of  activity  which  I 
have  just  placed  before  your  eyes,  were  not  always  as  distinct, 
as  separate  as  one  would  be  tempted  to  believe,  and  as  their 
difference  might  cause  it  to  be  supposed.  Great  lords, 
scarcely  Christians,  ex-prefects  of  Gaul,  men  of  the  world 
and  of  pleasure,  often  became  b'shops.  They  ended,  even, 
by  being  obliged  so  to  do,  if  they  wished  to  take  any  part  in 
the  moral  movement  of  the  epoch,  to  preserve  any  real  im- 
portance, to  exercise  any  active  influence.  This  is  what  hap- 
pened to  Sidonius  ApoUinaris,  as  to  many  others.  But,  in 
becoming  bishops,  they  did  not  completely  lay  aside  their 
habits,  their  tastes  ;  the  rhetorician,  the  grammarian,  the  man 
of  wit,  the  man  of  the  world  and  of  pleasure,  did  not  always 
vanish  under  the  episcopal  mantle  ;  and  the  two  societies,  the 
two  kinds  of  manners  sometimes  showed  themselves  singularly 
mixed  up  together.  Here  is  a  letter  from  Sidonius,  a  curious 
example  and  monument  of  this  strange  alliance,  lie  writes 
to  his  friend  Eriphius  : 

"SIDONIUS  TO  HIS  DEAR  ERIPHIUS  ;    HEALTH.     . 

"  You  are  always  the  same,  my  dear  Eriphius  ;  neithoi 
ihe  chase,  the  town,  nor  the  fields  attract  you  so  strongly, 
tnat  the  love  of   etters  cannot  still  detain  you.     You  djreol 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FItANCE.  81 

ne  to  send  you  the  verses  wliicli  I  made  at  the  requesl 
of  your  father-in-law/  that  respectable  man  who,  in  the 
society  of  his  equals,  was  equally  ready  to  command  or  to 
obey.  But  as  you  desire  to  know  in  wliat  place  and  upon 
wliat  occasion  those  verses  were  made,  to  the  end  better  to 
understand  this  valueless  production,  lay  the  blame  only  on 
yourself  if  the  preface  be  longer  than  the  work. 

"  We  were  met  at  the  sepulchre  of  Saint  Just,^  illness  pro. 
venting  you  from  joining  us.  Before  day,  the  annual  pro. 
cession  was  made,  amidst  an  immense  populace  of  both  sexes, 
that  could  not  be  contained  in  the  church  and  the  crypt, 
although  surrounded  by  immense  porticoes  ;  after  the  monks 
and  priests  had  performed  morning  service,  alternately  sing- 
ing the  psalms  with  great  sweetness,  each  retired — not  very 
far,  however — to  the  end  that  all  might  be  ready  for  tierce, 
when  the  priests  should  celebrate  the  divine  sacrifice.  The 
narrow  dimensions  of  the  place,  the  crowd  which  pressed 
around  us,  and  the  large  quantity  of  lights,  had  choked  us  ; 
the  oppressive  vapor  of  a  night  still  bordering  upon  summer, 
although  cooled  by  the  first  freshness  of  an  autumnal  dawn, 
made  this  inclosure  still  warmer.  While  the  various  classes 
of  society  dispersed  on  all  sides,  the  chief  citizens  assembled 
round  the  tomb  of  the  consul  Syagrius,  which  was  not  at  the 
distance  of  an  arrow-shot. 

"  Some  were  seated  under  the  shade  of  an  arbor  formed 
of  stakes  covered  with  the  branches  of  the  vine  ;  we  were 
stretched  U[)on  the  green  turf  embalmed  with  the  perfume  of 
flowers.  The  conversation  was  sweet,  cheerful,  pleasant ; 
moreover  (and  this  was  far  more  agreeable),  there  was  no 
question  either  of  power  or  tributes  no  word  which  could 
compromise,  nor  person  who  could  be  compromised.  Who- 
soever could  in  good  terms  relate  an  interesting  history,  was 
sure  to  be  listened  to  with  earnestness.  Nevertheless,  no 
continuous  narration  was  made,  because  gaiety  frequently 
interrupted  the  discourse.  Tired  at  length  of  this  long 
repose,  we  desired  to  do  something  else.  We  soon  separated 
into  two  bands,  according  to  ages  ;  one  party  loudly  demand(Ml 
the  game  of  tennis,  the  others  a  table  and  dice.  For  myself, 
1  was  the  fiist  to  give  the  signal  for  tennis,  because  I  love  it, 


'  Pliilimathius. 

*  Bishop  of  Lyons,  towards  the  end  of  the  fourth  century.     His  fete 
Is  celehrated  on  the  2(1  of  September. 


88  HISTORY    OP 

as  you  know,  as  much  as  books.  On  the  otlier  side,  my 
brother  Dominicius,  a  man  full  of  kindness  and  cheerfulness, 
seized  the  dice,  shook  them,  and  struck  with  his  dice-box,  as 
if  he  had  sounded  a  trumpet,  to  call  players  to  him.  As  1o 
us,  we  played  a  good  deal  with  the  crowd  of  scholars,  so  as  to 
reanimate  by  this  salutary  exercise  the  vigor  of  our  limbs 
stiffened  by  too  long  repose.  The  illustrious  Philimathiiis 
himself,  as  says  the  poet  of  Mantua, 

"  Ausus  et  ipse  manu  juvenum  tentare  laborem," 

constantly  mixed  with  the  players  at  tennis.  He  succeeded 
very  well  at  it  when  he  was  younger,  but  now,  as  he  was 
often  driven  from  the  middle,  wiiere  people  were  standing,  bj 
the  shock  of  some  running  player  ;  as  at  other  times,  if  he 
entered  the  arena,  he  could  neither  make  way  nor  avoid  the 
ball,  and  as  frequently  overthrown,  he  only  raised  himself 
with  pain  from  the  unlucky  fall,  he  was  the  first  to  leave  the 
scene  of  the  game,  heaving  sighs,  and  very  much  heated  : 
this  exercise  had  swollen  the  fibres  of  the  liver,  and  he  expe- 
rienced  poignant  pains,  I  left  oil' at  once,  charitably  to  cease 
at  the  same  time  as  he,  and  thus  save  our  brother  from  feel- 
mg  embarrassed  at  his  fatigue.  We  then  seated  ourselves 
again,  and  soon  he  was  forced  to  ask  for  water  to  bathe  his 
face;  they  brought  him  some,  and  at  tiie  same  time  a  naplun 
covered  with  hair,  which  had  been  washed  and  was  by  chance 
suspended  from  a  cord,  held  by  a  pulley  before  the  folding- 
door  of  the  house  of  the  porter.  While  he  leisurely  dried  his 
cheeks,  he  said  to  me  :  'I  wish  you  would  dictate  for  me  a 
quatrain  upon  the  cloth  that  has  rendered  me  this  ollicc,' 
'  Be  it  so,'  I  answered.  '  But,'  added  he,  '  let  my  name  be 
contained  in  these  verses.'  I  replied,  that  what  he  asked  was 
feasible.  'Well!'  he  replied,  '  dictate  them.'  '  I  then  said 
to  him,  with  a  smile :  •  Know,  however,  that  the  muses  will 
soon  be  irritated  if  I  attempt  to  meddle  with  their  choir  amidst 
so  many  witnesses.'  He  then  answered  very  briskly,  and 
yet  with  politeness  (for  he  is  of  great  readiness  of  imagination 
arxd  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  wit)  :  '  Rather  take  care,  lord 
Sulius,  that  Apollo  does  not  become  far  more  irritated,  if  you 
attempt  to  seduce  his  dear  pupils  in  secret  and  alone.'  You 
may  imagine  the  applause  excited  by  this  prompt  and  well- 
lurned  answer.  Then,  and  without  further  delay,  I  called 
his  secretary,  who  was  there  already,  tablets  in  hand,  and  1 
Jictated  to  him  a  quatrain  to  this  effect; 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  0J| 

*'  *  Aiiotlicr  morning,  whether  in  going  out  of  the  hot  bath,  o» 
when  the  chase  has  lieated  his  brow,  may  tiie  handsome  Plii 
limathius  still  fiiui  this  linen  to  dry  his  dripping  face,  so  thai 
the  water  may  pass  from  his  forehead  into  this  fleece  as  into 
the  throat  of  a  drinker!' 

*'  Scarcely  had  your  Epiphanius  written  these  verses  wnen 
they  announced  to  us  that  the  hour  was  come  when  the  bishop 
came  forth,  when  we  immediately  arose." 

Sidonius  was  then  bishop,  and  doubtless  many  of  thoso 
who  accompanied  him  to  the  tomb  of  Saint  Just  and  to  that 
of  flie  consul  Syagrius,  who  participated  with  him  in  the  cele- 
bration of  divine  service,  and  at  the  game  of  tennis,  in  the 
chanting  of  the  psalms,  and  in  the  taste  of  trifling  verses, 
weie  bishops  like  him. 

We  are  now  at  the  end  of  the  rirst  question  which  we  laid 
down;  we  have  considered  the  social  state  of  civil  and  reli- 
gious, Roman  and  Christian  Gaul,  at  the  fifth  century.  It 
remains  for  us  to  study  the  moral  state  of  the  same  epoch,  the 
idears,  the  doctrines,  the  sentiments  which  agitated  it ;  in  a 
word,  the  internal  and  intellectual  life  of  men.  This  will 
form  the  subject  of  the  next  lecture. 


2G 


M 


HISTORY    OF 


FOURTH  LECTHRR 

Object  of  the  lecture — What  must  be  understood  by  the  moral  slate  of 
a  society — Reciprocal  influence  of  the  social  state  upon  the  moral 
atate,  and  of  the  moral  state  upon  tiie  social  state — At  the  fourth 
century,  civiJ  Gaulish  society  alone  possessed  institutions  favorable 
to  intellectual  development — Gaulish  schools — Legal  situation  of  the 
professors — Religious  society  has  no  other  mediums  of  development 
and  influence  than  its  ideas — Still  one  languishes,  and  the  othei 
prospers — Decline  of  the  civil  schools — Activity  of  the  ChristiaB 
society — Saint  Jerome,  Saint  Augustin,  and  Saint  Paulin  of  Nola— 
Their  correspondence  with  Gaul — Foundation  and  character  of 
monasteries  in  Gaul — Causes  of  the  difference  of  tlie  moral  state  ol 
the  two  societies — Comparative  view  of  the  civil  literature  and  th< 
Christian  literature  in  the  fourtli  and  fifth  centuries — Inequality  of 
the  liberty  of  mind  in  the  two  societies — Necessity  for  religion  lein^ 
ing  its  aid  to  studios  and  letters. 

Before  entering  into  the  examination  of  the  moral  state  of 
Gaulish  society  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  and  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  fifth  century,  I  must  be  allowed  to  say  a  few 
words  as  to  the  nature  of  this  part  of  my  task.  These  words, 
moral  state,  have,  in  the  eyes  of  some  people,  a  somewhat 
vague  appearance.  I  would  wish  to  determine  their  meaning 
with  precision.  Moral  sciences,  now-a-days,  are  accused  of 
a  want  of  exactitude,  of  perspicuity,  of  certainty  ;  they  are 
reproached  as  not  being  sciences.  They  should,  they  may 
be  sciences,  just  the  same  as  physical  sciences,  for  they  also 
exercise  themselves  upon  facts.  Moral  facts  are  not  less 
real  tlian  others:  man  has  not  invented  them  :  hu  discovered 
and  named  them;  he  takes  note  of  them  every  monient  of  his 
life ;  he  studies  them  as  he  studies  all  that  surrounds  him,  all 
that  comes  to  his  intelligence  by  the  interposition  of  hia 
senses.  Moral  sciences  have,  if  the  expression  be  allowed, 
the  same  matter  as  other  sciences  ;  they  are,  then,  not  by 
any  means  condemned  by  their  nature  to  be  less  precise  or 
less  certain.  It  is  more  difficult,  I  grant,  for  them  to  arrive 
at  exactitude,  perspicuity,  precision.  Moral  facts  are,  on  the 
one  hand,  more  extended  and  more  exact,  and,  on  the  other, 
more  profoundly  concealed,  than  physical  facts;  they  are  at 
once  more  complex  in  their  development,  and  more  simple  in 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


85 


IhciV  oiigin.  Hence  arises  a  much  greater  difficulty  of  ob- 
serving thein,  classifying  them,  and  reducing  them  to  a 
science.  This  is  the  true  source  of  the  reproaches  of  which 
the  moral  sciences  have  often  been  the  subject.  Mark  their 
singular  fate  :  they  are  evidently  the  first  upon  winch  the 
human  race  occupied  itself;  when  we  go  back  to  the  cradle 
of  societies,  we  everywhere  encounter  moral  facts,  which, 
under  the  cloak  of  religion  or  of  poetry,  attracted  tlie  atten- 
tion,  and  excited  the  thought  of  men.  And  yet,  in  order  to 
succeed  in  thoroughly  knowing  them,  scientifically  knowing 
them,  all  the  skill,  all  the  penetration,  and  all  the  prudence 
of  the  most  practised  reason  is  necessary.  Such,  therefore, 
is  the  state  of  moral  sciences,  that  they  arc  at  once  the  first 
and  the  last  in  the  chronological  order  ;  the  first,  the  necessity 
which  works  upon  the  human  mind  ;  the  last,  that  it  succeeds 
in  elevating  to  the  precision,  clearness,  and  certainty,  which 
is  the  scientific  character.  We  must  not,  therefore,  be  as- 
tonished  nor  affrighted  by  the  reproaches  which  they  have 
incurred  ;  they  are  natural  and  legitimate :  let  it  be  known 
that  neither  the  certainty  nor  the  value  of  the  moral  sciences 
are  in  the  least  affected  by  them  ;  and  thence  let  this  useful 
lesson  be  drawn,  that,  in  their  study,  in  the  observation  and 
description  of  moral  facts,  it  is  necessary,  if  possible,  to  be 
still  more  nice,  exact,  attentive,  and  strict,  than  in  anything 
else.  Profiting  by  the  lesson,  I  commence  by  determining 
with  precision,  what  I  intend  to  convey  by  these  words— the 
mora/ «ta^e  of  society. 

We  have  hitherto  been  occupied  with  the  social  state  of 
Gaul,  that  is,  the  relations  of  men  among  themselves,  and  their 
external  and  natural  condition.  This  done,  the  social  rela- 
tions described,  are  the  facts,  whose  aggregate  constitutes  the 
life  of  an  epoch,  exhausted?  Certainly  not:  there  remains 
to  be  studied  the  internal,  the  personal  state  of  men,  the  state 
of  souls,  tnat  is,  on  one  side,  the  ideas,  doctrines,  the  whole 
intellectual  life  of  man;  on  the  other,  the  relations  which 
connect  ideas  with  actions,  creeds  with  the  determinations  ot 
the  will,  thought  with  human  liberty.  ^  ^ 

This  is  the  two-fold  fact  which  constitutes,  in  my  opinion, 
the  moral  state  of  a  society,  and  which  we  have  to  study  in  the 
Gaulish  society  of  the  fifth  century. 

According  to  a  very  general  opinion,  I  might  dispense  with 
msisting  long  upon  this  inquiry.  It  has  often  been  said  thai 
the  moral  state  depends  upon  the  social  state,  that  the  rela 


80  HISTOBY   OF 

tions  of  men  between  themselves,  the  principles  oi  customs 
which  preside  in  these  relations,  decide  their  ideas,  tlieir  sen- 
timents, their  internal  life  ;  tlmt  governments  and  institutions 
make  the  people.  This  was  a  dominant  idea  in  the  last  cen. 
tury,  and  was  produced,  under  dilFerent  forms,  by  the  most 
illustrious  writers  o(  the  age,  Montesquieu,  Voltaire,  the 
economists,  tlie  publicists,  «Sic.  Nothing  is  more  simple : 
the  revolution  that  the  last  century  brought  forth  was  a  social 
revolution  ;  it  was  far  more  occupied  in  changing  the  respect- 
ive situation  of  men,  than  their  internal  and  personal  disposi- 
tion;  it  desired  rather  to  reform  society  than  the  individual. 
Who  will  be  surprised  that  it  was  everywhere  preoccupied 
with  what  it  souglit,  with  wiiat  it  did — that  it  was  too  much 
taken  up  witli  the  social  state  ?  Yet  there  were  circumstan- 
ces which  might  have  served  to  have  warned  it :  it  labored 
to  chauf-e  the  relations,  the  external  condition  of  men  :  but 
what  were  the  instruments,  the  fulcrum  of  its  work  ?  ideab, 
Bcntimcnts,  internal  and  individual  dispositions:  it  was  l)y  tlio 
aid  of  the  moral  state  that  it  undertook  the  reiurm  of  the 
social  state.  The  moral  state,  then,  must  be  acknowledged 
to  be,  not  only  distinct  from,  but,  to  a  certain  point,  indepen- 
dent of  the  social  state ;  it  should  be  seen  that  situations, 
institutions  are  not  all,  nor  do  they  decide  all,  in  tlie  life  of 
nations ;  that  other  causes  may  modify,  contend  with,  even 
surmount  these ;  and  that  if  the  external  world  acts  upon 
man,  man  in  his  turn  acts  upon  the  world.  I  would  not,  that 
it  should  be  thought  that  I  reject  the  idea  wliich  I  combat ;  far 
from  it ;  its  share  of  legitimacy  is  great :  no  doubt  but  tha< 
the  social  state  exercised  a  powerful  influence  upon  the  moral 
state.  I  do  not  so  much  as  wish  tliat  this  doctrine  should  be 
exclusive  ;  the  influence  is  shared  and  reciprocal :  if  it  be 
correct  to  say  that  governmejits  make  nations,  it  is  no  less 
true  that  nations  make  governments.  The  question  which  is 
here  encountered  is  higher  and  greater  than  it  appears :  it  is 
a  question  whether  events,  the  life  of  the  social  world,  are,  as 
the  physical  world,  under  the  empire  of  external  and  neces- 
sary causes,  or  whether  man  himself,  his  thought,  his  will, 
concur  to  produce  and  govern  them;  a  question  what  is  the 
share  of  fatality  and  that  of  liberty  in  the  lot  of  the  human 
race.  A  question  of  immense  interest,  and  which  I  shall 
one  day  perliaps  have  occasion  to  treat  in  the  manner  whicl 
i(  merits ;  at  present,  1  can  oidy  assign  it  its  place,  and  I  con 
tent  myself  by  claiming  for  liberty,  for  man  iiimself,  a  place 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  87 

»  great  place,  among  the  authors  nf  events  in  the  creation  ot 
history. 

I  return  to  the  inquiry  into  the  moral  state  of  civil  society 
and  religious  society  in  Gaul,  in  tlie  fourth  and  fifth  centuries. 

If  institutions  could  do  all,  if  laws  snpj)lied  and  the  means 
furnished  to  society  could  do  everything,  the  intellectual  state 
of  Gaulish  civil  society  at  this  epoch  would  have  been  far  supe- 
rior  to  that  of  the  religious  society.  The  first,  in  fact,  alone 
possessed  all  the  institutions  proper  to  second  the  development 
of  mind,  the  progress  and  empire  of  ideas.  Roman  Gaul  was 
covered  with  large  schools.  The  principal  were  those  of 
Treves,  Bordeaux,  Autun,  Toulouse,  Poitiers,  Lyons,  Nar- 
bonne,  Aries,  Marseilles,  Vienne,  Besan^on,  &c.  Some  were 
very  ancient;  those  of  Marseilles  and  of  Autun,  for  example, 
dated  from  tlie  first  century.  They  were  taught  philosophy, 
medicine,  jurisprudence,  literature,  grammar,  astrology,  all 
the  sciences  of  the  age.  In  the  greater  part  of  these  schools, 
indeed,  tiiey  at  first  taught  only  rhetoric  and  grammar;  but 
towards  the  fourth  century,  professors  of  philosophy  and  law 
were  everywhere  introduced. 

Not  only  were  these  schools  numerous,  and  provided  with 
many  chairs,  but  the  emperors  continually  took  the  profes 
sors  of  new  measures  into  favor.  Their  interests  are,  froi- 
oonstantine  to  Theodosius  the  younger,  the  subject  of  fre- 
quent imperial  constitutions,  which  sometimes  extended, 
sometimes  confirmed  their  privileges ;  here  are  the  principal 
of  these : 

1.  Conslnntinus^  Augustus  to  Volusianus  {'\n  221). — "We 
order  that  physicians,  grammarians,  and  the  other  learned 
professors  be  for  the  future,  they  and  the  property  they  pos. 
sess  in  their  respective  cities,  exempt  from  all  municipal 
charges,  but  that,  nevertheless,  they  may  be  capable  of  being 
invested  with  the  honores.^  We  forbid  them  to  be  harassed 
by  law,  or  that  any  wrong  be  done  them.  If  any  one  annovs 
them,  let  him  be  prosecuted  by  the  magistrates,  to  the  end 
that  they  themselves  may  be  spared  that  trouble,  and  le* 
him  pay  one  hundred  thousand  pieces  to  the  excnequer ;  if  a 


1  ProbA)ly  praetorian  prefect. 

«  There  was  a  distinction  made  in  the  Ronian  cities  and  municipali 
tics  between  the  munera,  municipal  functions  of  an  inferior  class, 
whioh  conferred  no  privileges  ;  and  the  honores,  superior  functicnp 
regular  magistracies,  to  which  certain  privileges  were  attached 


88  UISTOHY    OF 

slave  offend  iheni  let  him  be  whipped  by  his  master  before 
him  he  has  offended ;  and  if  the  master  has  consented  to  tha 
outrage,  let  him  pay  twenty  thousand  pieces  to  the  exchequer, 
and  let  his  slave  remain  in  pledge  till  the  whole  sum  be 
delivered.  We  ordfer  to  be  paid  to  the  said  professors 
their  salaries ;  and  as  they  must  not  be  charged  with 
onerous  functions,  we  allow  them  to  have  the  honores  confer, 
red  upon  them  when  they  desire,  but  we  do  not  oblige  them 
to  it.'" 

2.  Constanlinus  Augustus  to  the  people  {in  133). — "Con- 
firming  the  good  deeds  of  our  divine  predecessors,  we  order 
that  physicians  and  professors  of  letters,  as  well  as  their  wives 
and  children,  be  exempt  from  all  public  functions  and  charges; 
that  they  be  not  included  in  the  service  of  the  militia,  nor 
obliged  to  receive  guests,  or  to  acquit  themselves  of  any 
charge,  to  the  end  that  they  may  have  more  facility  to  instruct 
many  people  in  the  liberal  studies  and  the  above-mentionea 
professions,'" 

3.  Gratianus  Augustus  to  Anlonius,  prelorian  prefect  of 
the  Gauls  (in  376). — "  In  the  heart  of  tlie  great  cities  which, 
in  oil  the  diocese  confided  to  your  Magnificence,  fiourish 
with  illustrious  masters,  let  the  best  preside  over  the  edu- 
cation of  youth  (we  mean  the  rhetoricians  and  grammarians 
in  the  Attic  and  Roman  tongues),  let  the  orators  receive  from 
the  exchequer  twenty-four  rations  -^  let  the  less  consider- 
able number  of  twelve  rations  be,  according  to  usage,  ac- 
corded to  Greek  and  Latin  grammarians.  And  to  the  end 
that  the  cities  which  enjoy  metropolitan  rights  may  select 
famous  professors,  and  as  we  do  not  think  that  each  city 
should  be  left  free  to  pay  its  rhetoricians  and  masters  ac- 
cording to  its  inclination,  for  the  illustrious  city  of  Treves 
we  wish  to  do  .something  more  ;  accordingly,  let  thirty  rations 
be  there  granted  to  the  rhetoricians,  twenty  to  the  Latin 
grammarian,  and  twelve  to  the  Greek  grammarian,  if  a  ca- 
pable one  can  be  found."* 

Valentinian,  Honorius,  Theodosius  IL  issued  many  similar 
decrees.    After  the  Empire  was  divided  among  many  masters, 

>  Cod.  Theod.,  1.  III.,  tit.  3,  1.  i.  «  Ibid.  1.  3. 

•  Annona,  a  certain  measure  of  wheat,  oil,  and  other  provisions 
probably  what  was  necessary  for  the  daily  consumption  of  a  .singlf  per 

*  Cod.  Theod  ,  XIII.,  tit.  3,  b.  11. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  8V 

r*Qch  of  tlicm  concerned  himself  rather  more  about  the  pros- 
perity  of  his  states  and  the  public  establishments  which  were 
in  them.  Thence  arose  a  momentary  amelioration,  of  which 
the  schools  felt  the  effects,  particularly  those  of  Gaul,  under 
the  administration  of  Constantius  Clorus,  of  Julian,  and  of 
Gratian. 

By  the  side  of  the  schools  were,  in  general,  placed  other 
analogous  establishments.  Thus,  at  Treves  there  was  a  grand 
lii)rary  of  the  imperial  palace,  concerning  which  no  special 
information  has  reached  us,  but  of  which  we  may  judge  by  the 
details  which  have  reached  us  concerning  that  of  Constan- 
tinople. This  last  had  a  librarian  and  seven  scribes  constantly 
occupied: — four  for  Greek,  and  three  for  Latin.  They  copied 
both  ancient  works  and  new  works.  It  is  probable  that  the 
same  institution  existed  at  Treves,  and  in  the  great  towns  of 
Gaul. 

Civil  society,  then,  was  provided  with  means  of  instruction 
and  intellectual  development.  It  was  not  the  same  with 
religious  society.  It  had  at  this  epoch  no  institution  espe- 
cially devoted  to  teaching ;  it  did  not  receive  from  the  state 
any  aid  to  this  particular  aim.  Christians,  as  well  as  others, 
could  frequent  the  public  schools  ;  but  most  of  the  professors 
were  still  pagans,  or  indifferent  in  religious  matters,  and,  in 
their  indifierence,  had  sufficient  ill-will  towards  the  new 
religion.  They  therefore  attracted  very  few  Christians. 
The  sciences  which  they  taught,  grammar  and  rhetoric,  pawan 
by  origin,  dominated  by  the  ancient  pagan  mind,  had  besides 
but  little  interest  for  Christianity.  Lastly,  it  was  for  a  long 
time  in  the  inferior  classes,  among  the  people,  that  Chris- 
.'ianity  was  propagated,  especially  in  the  Gauls,  and  it  was 
the  superior  classes  which  followed  the  great  schools.  More- 
over, it  was  hardly  until  the  commencement  of  the  fourth 
century  that  the  Christians  appeared  there,  and  then  but  few 
in  number. 

No  other  source  of  study  was  open  to  them.  The  establish- 
ments which,  a  little  afterwards,  became,  in  the  Christian 
church,  the  refuge  and  sanctuary  of  instruction,  the  monas- 
teries,  were  hardly  commenced  in  the  Gauls.  It  was  only  aftei 
the  year  360  that  the  two  first  were  founded  by  St.  Martin — 
one  at  Liguge,  near  Poitiers,  the  other  at  Marmouticrs,  near 
Tours;  and  they  were  devoted  rather  to  religious  contemplation 
han  to  teaching. 

Any  great  school,  any  special   institution  devoted  to  the 


iW  HISTORY    OF 

service  and  to  the  progress  of  intellect,  was  at  that  time 
therefore,  wanting  to  the  Christians ;  they  had  only  their  own 
ideas,  the  internal  and  personal  movement  of  their  thought 
It  was  necessary  that  they  should  draw  everything  froir, 
themselves;  their  doctrines,  and  the  empire  of  their  doctrines 
over  the  will — the  desire  wnich  they  hud  to  propagate  them- 
selves, to  take  possession  of  the  world — that  was  their  whoie 
power. 

Still,  the  activity  and  intellectual  strength  of  the  two  soci- 
eties were  prodigiously  unequal.  With  its  institutions,  its 
professors,  its  privileges,  the  one  was  nothing  and  did  notiiing 
— with  its  single  ideas,  the  other  incessantly  labored  and 
seized  everything. 

All  things,  in  the  fifth  century,  attest  the  decay  of  the  civil 
schools.  The  contemporaneous  writers,  Sidonius  Apollinaris 
and  Mamertius  Claudlanus,  for  example,  deplore  it  in  every 
page,  saying  that  the  young  men  no  longer  studied,  that  pro- 
fessors were  without  pupils,  that  science  languished  and  was 
being  lost.  They  attempted,  by  a  multitude  of  petty  expedients, 
to  escape  the  necessity  of  long  and  vigorous  studies.  This  was 
a  time  of  abbreviators  of  history,  philosophy,  grammar,  and 
rhetoric  ;  and  they  evidently  proposed  to  themselves  not  to 
propagate  instruction  in  the  classes  who  would  not  study,  but 
to  spare  the  labor  of  science  to  those  who  could,  but  would  not, 
devote  themselves  to  it.  It  was  especially  the  young  men  of^ 
the  superior  classes  who  frequented  the  schools  ;  but  these 
classes,  as  has  been  seen,  were  in  rapid  dissolution.  The 
schools  fell  with  them ;  the  institutions  still  existed,  but  they 
were  void — the  soul  had  quitted  the  body. 

The  intellectual  aspect  of  Christian  society  was  very  dif- 
ferent. Gaul,  in  the  fifth  century,  was  under  the  influence 
of  three  sj)iritual  chiefs,  of  whom  none  lived  there  :  Saint 
Jerome'  residing  at  Bethlehem,  Saint  Augustin^  at  Hippo, 
Saint  Paulin'  at  Nola  :  the  latter  only  was  a  Gaul  by  birth. 
They  truly  governed  Gaulish  Christianity  ;  it  was  to  them 
that  it  addressed  itself  on  all  occasions,  to  receive  ideas,  solu- 
tions, councils.  Examples  abound.  A  priest,  born  at  th«^  foot 
•>f  the  Pyrenees,  and  who  was  called  Vigilantius,  travelled  to 
Palestine.  He  there  saw  Saint  Jerome,  and  encajied  with  him 
u:   controversy  coiicerning  some   questions   of  ecclesiastical 


>  Born  in  331,  died  in  420  •  Born  in  354,  dipd  in  430 

k  B«trii  in  354,  died  in  431. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  91 

doclriiio  or  disciplinp.  Upon  his  rct'jrn  to  the  Gauls,  he  wrote 
concerning  what  he  regarded  as  abuses.  He  attacked  the 
worship  of"  martyrs,  their  relics,  the  miracles  worked  at  their 
tombs,  frequent  fasts,  austerities,  even  celibacy.  Scarcely  was 
his  work  published,  than  a  priest  named  Reparius,  who  lived 
in  his  neighborhood,  probably  in  Dauphiny  or  Savoy,  ac- 
quainted Saint  Jerome  with  it,  giving  him  an  account  at  largo 
of  the  contents  of  the  book,  and  of  its  danger,  as  he  said. 
Saint  Jerome  immediately  answered  Reparius,  and  his  answer 
is  a  first  refutation,  which  promises  a  second  more  in  detail. 
Reparius  and  another  neighboring  priest,  Didier,  immediately 
sent  to  Bethlehem  by  a  third  priest,  Sisinnius,  the  writings  of 
Vigilantitis ;  and  in  less  than  two  years  after  the  commence- 
ment of  the  contest,  Saint  Jerome  sent  into  the  Gauls  a  com- 
plete refutation,  which  rapidly  spread  there.  The  same  fact 
took  place  almost  at  the  same  moment  between  Gaul  and  St. 
Auguslin,  upon  the  subject  of  the  heresy  of  Pelagius  con- 
cerning free-will  and  grace ;  there  was  the  same  care  on  the 
part  of  the  Gaulish  priests  to  inform  the  grand  bishop  of 
everything;  the  same  activity  on  his  part  to  answer  their 
questions,  to  remove  their  doubts,  to  sustain,  to  direct  their 
faith.  Every  heresy  which  threatened,  every  question  which 
arose,  became,  between  the  Gauls  on  one  side,  and  Hippo, 
Bethlehem,  and  Nola  on  the  other,  the  occasion  of  a  long  and 
rapid  succession  of  letters,  messages,  journeys,  pamplilets. 
It  was  not  even  necessary  that  a  great  question  should  arise, 
that  general  and  pressing  religious  interest  should  be  involved. 
Simple  Christians,  and  women,  were  pre-occupied  with  certain 
ideas,  certain  scruples ;  light  was  wanting  to  them  ;  they  had 
recourse  to  the  same  doctors,  the  same  remedies.  A  woman 
of  Bayeux,  Hedibie,  and  at  the  same  time  a  woman  of  Cahors, 
Algasie,  drew  up,  in  order  to  address  them  to  Saint  Jerome, 
the  one  twelve,  the  other  eleven  questions  concerning  philo- 
sophical, religious,  historical  matters:  they  asked  him  the 
explanation  of  certain  passages  of  the  Holy  Scriptures;  they 
wishefl  to  know  from  him  what  were  the  conditions  of  moral 
perfection,  or  what  conduct  should  be  pursued  in  certain  oir- 
cumstances  of  life.  In  a  word,  they  consulted  him  as  a  family 
spiritual  director  ;  and  a  priest  named  Apodemus  set  out  from 
the  heart  of  Brittany,  charged  to  carry  these  letters  into  the 
leart  of  Palestine,  and  to  bring  back  the  answers.  The  sam*< 
activity,  the  same  rapidity  of  circulation  reigned  in  the  interior 
of  Gaulish  Christianity.     Saint  Sulpicius  Severus,  the  com 


OQ  HISTORY    OF 

panioii  and  friend  of  Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  wrote  a  Life  of 
that  Saint  while  still  living.  It  spread  everywhere,  in  Gaul, 
in  Spain,  and  in  Italy;  copies  of  it  were  sold  in  all  the  great 
towns;  bishops  sent  for  it  with  eagerness.  Whenever  a  reli- 
gious desire,  doubt,  or  difficulty  was  manifested,  doctors  labor- 
ed,  priests  travelled,  writings  circulated.  And  this  was  no 
easy  thing,  this  quick  and  vast  correspondence.  Physical 
means  were  wanting  ;  the  roads  were  few  and  perilous  ;  ques- 
tions had  far  to  be  carried,  and  long  to  wait  for  an  answer ; 
active  zeal — immovable,  inexhaustible  patience — was  neces- 
sary  ;  lastly,  that  perseverance  in  moral  wants  was  necessary 
which  at  all  times  is  a  rare  virtue,  and  which  can  alone  supply 
the  imperfection  of  institutions. 

Nevertheless,  institutions  began  to  rise,  and  to  be  regulated 
among  the  Christians  of  Gaul.  The  foundation  of  the  greater 
portion  of  the  large  monasteries  of  the  southern  provinces 
belongs  to  the  first  half  of  the  fifth  century.  That  of  Saint 
Faustin  at  Nimes,  and  another  in  his  diocese,,  has  been 
attributed  to  Saint  Castor,  bisiiop  of  Apt,  about  422.  Abou' 
the  same  time,  Cassienus  founded  at  Marseilles  that  of  Saini 
Victor  ;  Saint  Honoratus  and  Saint  Caprais  that  of  Lerins, 
the  most  celebrated  of  the  age,  in  one  of  the  isles  of  Ilyeres  ; 
rather  later  arose  that  of  Condat  or  Saint  Claude  in  Franche- 
Comte,  that  of  Grigny  in  the  diocese  of  Vienne,  and  many 
others  of  less  importance.  The  primitive  character  of  the 
Gaulish  monasteries  was  entirely  dillercnt  from  that  of  the 
eastern  monasteries.  In  the  east,  the  monasteries  were  chiefly 
for  the  purposes  of  solitude  and  contemplation  ;  the  men  who 
retired  into  the  Thebaid  desired  to  escape  pleasures,  tempta- 
tions, and  the  corruption  of  civil  society  ;  they  wished  to  aban- 
don themselves,  far  from  social  intercourse,  to  the  transjxjrts 
of  their  imagination,  and  to  the  rigors  of  their  conscience.  It 
was  not  until  a  later  period  that  they  drew  near  each  other 
in  places  where  at  first  they  had  been  dispersed,  and  anchorites 
or  solitaries  became  cenobites,  <coii'o/?io;,  living  in  common.  In 
the  west,  despite  the  imitation  of  the  east,  monasteries  had  a 
different  origin  ;  they  began  with  life,  in  common  with  the 
desire,  not  of  isolation,  but  of  union.  Civil  society  was  a  prey 
to  all  kinds  of  disorders;  national,  provincial,  or  municipal,  it 
was  dissolving  on  all  sides  ;  a  centre  and  an  asylum  was  en- 
tirely wanting  to  men  who  wished  to  discuss,  exercise  them- 
selves,  live  together  ;  they  tbund  one  in  the  monasteries  ;  thus 
naonastic  life,  '.a  \ls   rise,  had   neither  the  contgmplntive  noi 


CIVILIZATION    ir*    FRANCE.  93 

solitary  character;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  highiy  social  and 
active ;  it  kindled  a  focus  of"  intellectual  development  ;  ' 
served  as  the  instrument  of  fermentation  and  propagation  oi 
ideas.  The  monasteries  of  the  south  of  Gaul  were  philoso- 
pliical  schools  of  Christianity ;  it  was  there  that  intellcjtual 
men  meditated,  discussed,  taught  j  it  was  from  thence  that 
new  ideas,  daring  thoughts,  heresies,  were  sent  forth.  I.  was 
in  the  ahbcys  of  Saint  Victor  and  of  Lerins  that  all  the  great 
questions  of  free-will,  predestination,  grace,  original  sin  were 
the  most  warmly  agitated,  and  where  the  Pelagian  oj  diions, 
for  fif\y  years,  found  the  greatest  nourislmnent  and  support. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  intellectual  state  of  religious  s  »ciety, 
and  that  of  civil  society,  cannot  be  compared  ;  on  one  side, 
all  is  decay,  languor,  iticrtia ;  on  the  other,  all  is  movement, 
eagerness,  ambition,  progress.  What  are  the  causes  of  such 
a  contrast  ?  It  is  necessary  to  know  from  whence  so  striking 
a  difference  arose,  how  it  continued,  why  each  day  it  waa 
aggravated  :  by  tins  only  shall  we  arrive  at  a  full  knowledge 
and  comprehension  of  their  moral  state. 

There  were,  I  believe,  two  great  causes  for  the  fact  which 
I   have  just  described  :   1st.  the  very  nature  of  the  subjects,^ 
questions,   intellectual   labors   with   which   the  two  societies 
occupied  tliemselves :  2d.  the  very  unequal  freedom  of  minds 
in  one  and  the  other. 

Civil  literature,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  presents  at 
this  epoch  in  Gaul  only  four  kinds  of  mon  and  of  works : 
grammarians,  rhetoricians,  chroniclers,  and  poets  ;  poeta 
not  on  a  large  scale,  but  on  a  small  one,  makers  of  epithala- 
miums,  inscriptions,  descriptions,  idyls,  eclogues.  These  are 
the  sul^jiiors  upon  which  what  remained  of  the  Roman  mind 
exercised  itself. 

Cliristian  literature  was  entirely  different.  It  abounded  in 
philosophers,  politicians,  and  orators  ;  it  agitated  the  most  im- 
portant questions,  the  most  pressing  interests.  I  shall  now 
place  before  you,  always  taking  heed  to  confinf  myself  to 
Gaul,  some  proper  names  and  some  titles,  a  comparative  view 
of  the  principal  writers  and  works  of  the  two  literatures.  You 
yourselves  will  deduce  the  consequences. 

I  do  not  here  pretend  to  give  a  biographical  or  literary 
enumeration,  however  far  from  complete.  I  only  point  oul 
the  most  eminent  names  and  facts. 

Among  the  grammarians  with  \vnom  civil  literature  was 
crowded,  I   shall  name,  1st.  Agroetius  or  Agritius,  professor 


94  HISTORY    OF 

at  Bordeaux  about  the  middle  of  the  fourth  centi.ry,  by  whi)r.i 
we  have  a  rerriaining  treatise,  or  fragment  of  a  treatise,  on 
the  property  and  varieties  of  the  Latin  tongue  ;  Latin  syno- 
nymes,  for  example,  temperantia,  temperulio  and  tcmpcries  ; 
^ercussus  and  perciilsus  ;  the  autiior  rests  upon  examples  drawn 
from  the  best  authors — Cicero,  Horace,  Terence,  Livy,  &c. — 
for  the  distinctions  which  he  establishes.  2d.  Urbicus,  also 
professor  at  Bordeaux,  celebrated  chiefly  for  his  pi'ofound 
knowledge  of  the  Greek  language  and  literature.  3d.  Ursulus 
and  Ilarmoniu.s,  professors  at  Treves.  Ilarmonius  collected 
the  poems  of  Homer,  adding  thereto  notes  on  false  readings, 
hiterpretations,  dsc. 

By  the  side  of  the  grammarians  are  the  rhetoricians,  whose 
business  was  not  only  with  teaching  eloquence,  but  with 
writing  discourses,  panegyrics  on  all  the  cliief  circumstance.<< 
of  life,  upon  the  occasion  of  fetes,  civil  solemnities,  the  death 
or  accession  of  an  emperor,  &c.  Twelve  of  these  bravura.s 
of  vain  eloquence  have  been  specially  preserved  and  collected. 
The  four  principal  panegyrists  are — first,  Claudius  Mumertinus, 
author  of  an  eulogy  on  the  emperor  Maximian,  delivered  at 
Treves,  the  20th  of  April,  292,  the  day  on  which  the  foundation 
of  Rome  was  celebrated ;  secondly,  Eumemus,  professor  of 
eloquence  at  Autun,  author  of  four  discourses  delivered  from 
297  to  31 1,  in  the  presence  and  in  honor  of  Constantius  Chlorus, 
and  of  Constantino  ;  thirdly,  Nazarius,  professor  at  Bordeaux, 
author  of  a  panegyric  on  Constantino  j  fourthly,  Claudius 
Mamertinus,  perhaps  the  son  of  the  first,  author  of  a  discourse 
delivered  in  3G2  before  Julian. 

Among  the  Gaulish  and  pagan  chroniclers  of  this  epoch,  the 
most  distinguished  is  Eutropius,  who  wrote  his  abridgment  of 
Roman  history  about  the  year  370. 

I  might  extend  the  list  of  poets  at  pleasure,  but  it  will  not 
he  complained  of  that  I  only  name  three  of  them.  The 
mos..  fertile,  the  most  celebrated,  and  incontestably  the  most 
spiritual  and  elegant,  is  Ausonius,  who  was  born  at  Bordeaux 
about  309,  and  died  upon  one  of  his  estates  in  394,  aftei 
having  filled  the  highest  public  offices,  and  composed — first, 
one  hundred  and  forty  epigrams  ;  secondly,  thirty-eight  e|)i. 
tuphsj  thirdly,  twenty  idyls;  fourthly,  twenty-four  epistleu; 
fuihly,  seventeen  descriptions  of  towns,  and  a  mul.itude  of 
email  poems  upon  such  subjects  as  the  professors  of  Bordeaux 
the  persons  and  incidents  of  his  family,  the  twelve  Cajsaia 
the  seven  wis^  men  of  Greece,  &;c.,  &c. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  9ft 

An  uncle  of  Ausoiiius,  nained  Arborius,  of  Toulouse,  liaj 
eft  a  small  poem,  addressed  to  a  young  girl  too  finely  dressed 
Ad  virghicm  nintis  cullam. 

A  poet  of  Poitiers,  Ilutilius  Numatianus,  wlio  lived  foi 
some  time  at  Rome,  and  who  returned  to  his  country  abou 
the  year  410,  upon  his  return  wrote  a  poem  entitled  Itinera- 
rium,  or  de  Reditu ;  a  curious  work  enough  for  details  of 
places,  manners,  and  for  the  anger  of  the  poet  against  the 
invasion  of  society  by  the  Jews  and  the  monks,  lie  was 
3vidcntly  a  pagan. 

I  pass  to  the  Gaulish  Christian  society  at  the  same   epoch. 

The  first  name  that  I  meet  with  is  that  of  Saint  Ambrose  ; 
although  ho  passed  his  life  in  Italy,  I  reckon  him  as  a  Gaul, 
for  he  was  born  at  Treves,  about  the  year  340.  His  works 
have  been  collected  in  two  volumes  folio.  They  contain 
thirty-six  different  works — religious  treatises,  commentaries 
upon  the  Bible,  discourses,  letters,  hymns,  die.  The  most 
extensive,  and  also  the  most  curious,  is  entitled  De  Ofiiciia 
Ministrorum  (concerning  the  duties  of  ministers  of  tho 
church). 

At  a  future  period  I  shall,  perhaps,  return  to  this  work  in 
detail  ;  at  present  I  only  wish  to  explain  its  character.  You 
would  be  tempted  to  believe,  from  the  title,  that  it  was  a 
treatise  upon  the  particular  duties  of  priests,  and  on  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  should  acquit  tiiemselves  of  their  duties. 
You  would  be  deceived  ;  it  is  a  complete  moral  treatise,  in 
which  tho  author,  whih;  on  tho  suliject  of  priests,  pusses  in 
review  all  human  duties;  he  there  sets  down  and  resolves  a 
multitude  of  questions  of  practical  philosophy. 

By  the  side  of  Saint  Ambrose  I  shall  place  Saint  Paulin, 
born,  like  him,  in  Gaul  (at  Bordeaux,  about  the  year  353), 
and  who  died,  like  him,  a  bishop,  in  Italy  (at  Nola,  in  431). 
Many  of  his  works,  among  others  his  book  against  the  pagans, 
are  lost ;  all  that  remains  of  him  are  some  letters  and  poems ; 
but  letters,  at  this  period,  had  a  very  difierent  importance 
from  what  they  have  in  modern  times.  Literature,  properly 
so  called,  held  but  little  place  in  the  Christian  world  ;  men 
wrote  very  little  for  the  sake  of  writing ;  for  the  mere  pleas- 
ure of  manifesting  their  ideas ;  some  event  broke  forth,  a 
question  arose,  and  a  book  was  often  produced  under  the  forn) 
of  a  letter  to  a  Christian,  to  a  friend,  to  a  church.  Politics, 
religion,  controversy,  spiritual  and  temporal  interests,  general 
and  special  councils—  all  are  met  with  in  the   letters  ol  this 


96  HISTORY   OF 

time,  and  they  are  among  the  number  of  its  most  curious 
monuments. 

I  have  already  named  Saint  Sulpicius  Severus,  of  Tou- 
louse'  (or  of  some  other  town  of  Aquitaine,  for  his  origin  is 
not  known  with  certainty),  and  his  Life  of  Saint  Martin,  of 
Tours.  lie  moreover  wrote  a  Sacred  Hislory,  one  of  the 
finst  essays  at  ecclesiastical  history  attempted  in  the  west ;  it 
reaches  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  up  to  the  year  400, 
and  contains  many  important  facts  which  are  not  found 
elsewhere. 

Nearly  at  the  same  time,  or  rather  later,  the  monk  Cassie- 
nus,'  a  provincial  by  birth,  as  it  would  appear,  though  he 
lived  for  u  very  long  time  in  the  east,  published  at  Marseilles, 
at  the  request  of  Saint  Castor,  bishop  of  Apt,  his  Institutions 
and  his  Conferences,  works  written  for  the  purpose  of  making 
the  western  world  acquainted  with  the  origin,  principles, 
practices,  and  ideas  of  the  eastern  monks.  It  was  at  tliia 
period,  as  you  have  heard,  tliat  most  of  the  earlier  monaste- 
ries in  southern  Gaul  were  founded  by  the  co-operation  of 
Cassienus  himself  j  so  that  these  books  of  his  were  prepared 
to  meet  an  actual  and  practical  want. 

It  recurs  to  me  that  before  Cassienus  I  should  have  men- 
tioned Saint  Hilary,  bishop  of  Poitiers,  one  of  the  most  active, 
most  upright,  and  most  eminent  chiefs  of  the  Gaulish  church, 
who  wrote  a  number  of  works,  all  of  them  of  limited  extent, 
but  all  higiily  important  in  their  time.  They  are,  in  fact, 
for  the  most  part,  mere  pamphlets  upon  the  various  questions 
which  were  then  engaging  attention.  After  Ciu'istianity  liad 
grown  beyond  its  infancy,  the  more  eminent  bishops  had  two 
parts  to  play  at  one  and  the  same  time — tliat  of  plulosopher 
and  that  of  statesman.  They  possessed  the  empire  over 
ideas,  or,  at  all  events,  the  preponderating  influence,  in  tiio 
intellectual  order;  and  they  had  also  to  administer  the  tem- 
poral affairs  of  the  religious  society.  They  were  called  up- 
on concurrently  to  fuliil  two  missions — to  mediate  and  to  aet, 
to  convince  and  to  govern.  Hence  tlie  prodigious  variety, 
and  hence  also  the  haste,  which  very  often  characterize  their 
writings.  These,  in  general,  were  works  got  Uj)  altogethei 
for  the  occasion — pamphlets  intended,  now  to  solve  a  question 
oi  doctrine,  now  to  discuss  a  matter  of  business,  to  enlighten 


'  Born  about  355,  died  about  420 

«  Born  about  360,  died  -ibout  4  10.  '  Died  about  3G8 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


97 


a  soul,  or  oppose  a  civil  disorder,  to  answer  a  heresy,  or  to 
obtain  a  concession  fronn  the  government.  The  works  of 
Saint  Hilary  are  more  especially  impressed  with  this 
character. 

A  monk,  who  was  possibly  acquainted  with  Saint  Hilary, 
since  he  lived  for  some  time  with  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  Eva- 
grius,  wrote  two  dialogues,  entitled — the  one,  Conference 
between  Thcophilus,  a  Christian,  and  Simon,  a  Jew — the  other, 
Conference  between  Zacheus,  a  Christian,  and  Apollonius,  a 
philosopher — curious  monuments  of  the  manner  in  which  a 
Christian  monk  of  the  end  of  the  fourth  century  framed  in 
his  mind  the  question,  on  the  one  hand,  between  Judaism  and 
Christianity;  and  on  the  other,  between  Christianity  and 
philosophy. 

A  little  later  than  this,  a  priest  of  Marseilles,  Salvienus,  a 
native  of  Treves,  wrote  his  treatise  On  Avarice,  a  treatise  on 
religious  morality,  and  his  book,  which  I  have  already  men- 
tioned,  De  Gubernatione  Dei,  a  work  remarkable  both  as  a 
picture  of  the  social  state  and  manners  of  the  period,  and^  as 
an  attempt  to  acquit  Providence  from  any  share  in  ihe  mise- 
ries of  the  world,  the  blame  of  which  he  entirely  throws 
upon  mankind  themselves. 

The  Pelagian  schism  gave  rise  to  a  vast  number  of  works, 
among  which,  however,  I  will  only  mention  those  of  Saint 
Prosper  of  Aquitaine,  and  especially  his  ^oem.  Against  In- 
grates,  one  of  the  happiest  efforts  of  philosophical  poetry  that 
ever  emanated  from  the  bosom  of  Christianity.  His  Chronicle, 
which  extends  from  the  origin  of  the  world  to  the  year  455,  is 
not  without  importance. 

While  the  question  of  free  will  and  of  grace  was  agitating 
the  whole  church,  and  more  especially  that  of  Gaul,  that  of 
the  immateriality  of  the  soul  was  being  more  quietly  discussed 
in  the  Narbonnese,  between  Faustus,'  bishop  of  Riez,  who 
maintained  that  the  soul  is  material,  and  Mamertius  Claudie- 
nus,'  priest  of  Vienne,  and  brother  of  the  bishop  Saint  Ma- 
mertius, who  defended  the  contrary  opinion.  The  letter  in 
which  Faustus  sets  forth  his  views,  and  the  treatise  of  Ma- 
mertius Claudienus,  entitled  On  ihe  Nature  of  ihe  Soul,  are 
amongst  the  most  curious  monuments  of  the  state  of  the  human 
mind  in  the  fifth  century,  and  I  therefore  propose  to  make 
you  acquainted  with  them  in  detail  at  a  future  period. 

■ - ■  ■  "^  -^ 

»  Died  in  490  '  Died  about  473. 


98  HISTORY    OF 

Of  the  Christian  literature  of  this  period,  I  will  cite  I  ul  cm 
more  name,  that  of  Gennadius,  priest  at  Marseilles,  who,  in 
his  work  entitled,  Treatise  on  Illustrious  Men,  or  Ecclesiasti' 
cal  Authors,  from  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century  to  the  end  of 
thejifth,  has  given  us  more  information  on  the  literary  history 
of  the  period  than  we  find  anywhere  else.  When  you  com- 
pare these  two  lists,  dry  and  incomplete  as  they  are,  of  authora 
and  of  works,  do  not  the  names,  the  titles  alone,  explain  the 
diflerence  in  the  intellectual  state  of  the  two  societies  ?  The 
Christian  writers  address  themselves  at  once  to  the  highest 
interests  of  thought  and  of  life  j  they  are  active  and  potent 
at  once  in  the  domain  of  intellect,  and  in  that  of  reality  ;  their 
activity  is  rational,  and  their  philosophy  popular ;  they  treat 
of  things  which  alike  stir  up  the  soul  of  the  anchorite  in  his 
solitude,  and  of  nations  in  their  cities.  The  civil  literature, 
on  the  contrary,  has  no  reference  to  questions  either  of  prin- 
ciple or  of  passing  events,  to  either  the  moral  wants  or  the 
houseliold  sentiments  of  the  masses;  it  is  entirely  a  literature 
of  convention  and  luxury,  of  coteries  and  of  schools,  wholly 
and  solely  devoted,  from  the  very  nature  of  the  subjects 
which  engage  its  attention,  to  the  passing  entertainment  of 
the  nobles  and  the  wits. 

Tliis  is  not  all ;  we  find  another  and  a  far  difTerem  cause 
for  the  diversity  of  the  moral  condition  of  the  two  societies ; 
liberty,  that  is  to  say,  liberty  of  mind,  was  entirely  wanting 
to  the  one,  while  in  the  other  it  was  real  and  powerful. 

Indeed,  it  was  impossible  but  that  liberty  should  be  wholly 
wanting  to  the  civil  literature  ;  that  literature  belonged  to 
civil  society,  to  the  old  Roman  world  ;  it  was  its  image,  its 
amusement ;  it  bore  all  its  characteristics, — decay,  sterility, 
fertility,  servility.  The  very  nature,  however,  of  the  subjects 
upon  which  it  exercised  itself,  rendered  the  presence  of  these 
characteristics  very  endurable.  It  kept  entirely  apart  from 
all  the  great  moral  questions,  from  all  the  real  interests  of 
life,  that  is  to  say,  from  ev^ry  career  in  which  freedom  of 
mind  is  indispensable.  Grammar,  rhetoric,  minor  poetry, 
very  readily  adapt  themselves  to  servitude.  To  compile  Latin 
synonymes  like  Agrcecius — to  criticise,  like  Arborius,  a  girl 
over  dressed — or  even  to  celebrate,  like  Ausonius,  the  beauties 
of  the  Moselle,  required  neither  freedom  nor,  in  truth,  even 
movement  of  mind.  This  sul^ordinate  literature  has  moie 
than  once  prospered  extremely  well  under  despoli.sm,  and  ia 
the  decline  of  society. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FIIANCE.  90 

In  the  very  heart  of  the  schools,  there  was  at  entire  absence 
jf  liberty  ;  the  whole  of  the  professors  were  removaole  at 
any  time.  The  emperor  had  full  power,  not  only  to  iranster 
(hem  from  one  town  to  another,  but  to  cancel  their  appoint- 
nicnt  whenever  he  thought  fit.  Moreover,  in  a  great  many 
of  the  Gaulish  towns,  the  people  themselves  were  against 
them,  for  the  people  were  Ciiristians,  at  least  in  a  great 
majority,  and  as  such  had  a  distaste  for  schools  which  were 
altogether  pagan  in  origin  and  intention.  The  professors 
accordingly,  were  regarded  with  hostility,  and  often  mal- 
treated ;  they  were,  in  fact,  quite  unsupported  except  by  the 
remnant  of  the  higher  classes,  and  by  the  imperial  authority, 
which  still  maintained  order,  and  which  havitig  herotoforo 
often  persecuted  the  Christians  solely  in  conipliance  with  the 
clamorous  demands  of  the  people,  now,  in  the  fourth  century, 
protected  the  pagans  against  the  people,  either  from  an  .ibstract 
desire  to  preserve  order,  from  deference  to  the  wishes  of'  dis- 
tinguished citizens,  themselves  pagans  or  indifferent  about 
the  matter,  or  out  of  that  respect  for  old  institutions,  old 
principles,  which  an  old  government  ever  retains.  You  may 
thus  readily  perceive,  in  how  dependent,  powerless,  pre- 
carious, painful  a  position  the  professors  were  placed.  That 
of  the  students  was  scarcely  any  better.  They  were  the 
object  of  a  multitude  of  inquisitorial,  vexatious,  police  regula. 
tions,  against  which  they  liad  no  practical  security.  I  will 
read  to  you  an  edict  of  Valentinian,  which  will  give  you  a 
clear  idea  of  their  sifimtiori  ;  the  edict  itself  only  refers  to  the 
Etudents  of  the  school  at  Rome,  but  the  other  schools  of  the 
empire  were  conducted  upon  analogous  rules  and  principles  : 

"  Valentinian,  Valerius,  and  Gratian,  to  Olyhrius,  Prefect  of 
Rome  (370). 

"  1.  All  persons  coming  to  study  at  Rome,  must  imme- 
diately upon  their  arrival  lay  before  the  master  of  thp  census' 
letters  from  the  provincial  governors  who  have  given  them 
permission  to  travel,  setting  forth  their  place  of  abode,  their 
dge,  their  name,  condition,  and  description.  2.  They  must  de- 
clare, also,  at  the  same  time,  what  studies  they  intend  more 
especially  to  pursue.    3.  The}"  must  let  the  census  office  know, 


•  A  mngistrate,  some  of  whose  functions  were  analogous  with  thoof 
{A  OMV  prefect  of  police 

27 


100  HISTORY  OF 

from  time  to  time,  their  place  of  abode  in  Roiiie,  so  ihal  tlje 
officers  of  that  department  may  see  to  their  following  out  th« 
studies  which  they  have  indicated  as  the  object  of  their  pur- 
suit. 4.  The  aforesaid  officers  are  charged  to  take  care  tiiat 
the  students  conduct  themselves  at  the  lectures  in  a  becoming 
manner,  avoiding  all  occasion  of  gaining  an  ill  reputation,  and 
taking  no  part  in  any  of  those  private  associations  among 
themselves,  which  we  regard  as  very  little  short  of  crimes; 
they  are  not  to  visit  the  theatre  too  frequently,  not  to  indulge 
in  overfeasting  and  revelry.  Any  student  wlio  shall  forget 
the  dignified  demeanor  due  from  him  who  pursues  the  liberal 
arts,  shall  be  publicly  beaten  with  rods,  put  on  board  some 
vessel,  and,  ignominiously  expelled  the  city,  be  sent  back 
whence  he  came.  Tiiey  who  apply  tiiemselves  assiduously  to 
their  studies,  may  remain  in  Rome  until  their  twentieth  year; 
should  they  then  omit  to  return  home  of  their  own  accord,  let 
the  prefect  have  them  removed,  whether  they  will  or  no. 
And  that  these  regulations  may  be  properly  attended  to,  your 
IIi<rh  Sincerity  will  forthwith  direct  the  cliief  officers  of  the 
census  department  to  have  drawn  up,  every  month,  a  report 
upon  the  said  students,  setting  forth  how  many  there  are,  who 
they  are,  whence  they  came,  their  general  character,  and  who 
of  them,  their  time  in  Rome  being  completed,  have  to  be  sent 

back  to  Africa,  or  other  provinces Let  a  copy  of  these 

reports  be  annually  sent  to  us,  that,  thereby  made  acquainted 
with  the  merits  and  acquirements  of  the  students,  we  may 
judge  how  far  any  of  them  are  necessary  or  desirable  lor  our 
service."* 

Some  of  these  precautions  may  very  possibly  have  been,  in 
certain  cases,  necessary  and  proper  ;  but  it  is  at  the  same  time 
quite  clear  that  in  the  system  of  which  they  were  a  leading,  a 
dominant  feature,  in  the  schools  of  whose  discipline  they  formed 
the  basis,  there  was  no  liberty. 

In  Christian  literature,  on  the  contrary,  liberty  manifests 
itself  in  full  luxuriance  .  the  activity  of  mind,  the  diversity  of 
opinion  publicly  declared,  aTe  of  themselves  sufficient  to  prove 
the  fact  of  this  liberty.  The  human  mind  does  not  spread  iU 
wings  so  broadly,  so  energetically,  when  it  is  loaded  with 
irons.  Liberty,  besides,  was  inherent  in  the  intellectual  situ. 
Btion  of  the  church  :  she  was  laboring  at  the  formation  of  hel 


>  Cod.  Theod.,  1.  «iv.,  t.  ix.,  1   i. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FP.ANCE.  lOl 

Joctrines,  which,  as  to  a  great  number  of  points,  she  had  not 
as  yet  promulgated  or  fixed.  From  time  to  time,  some  ques- 
tion was  raised  by  an  event,  by  a  polemical  writing ;  it  was 
then  examined  and  discussed  by  the  chiefs  of  the  religious 
society  ;  and  the  decision  formed,  the  belief  adopted,  the  dogma 
was  in  due  time  proclaimed.  It  is  evident  that,  in  such  a 
period  as  this,  there  must  exist  liberty,  precarious,  perhaps, 
and  transitory,  but  still  real,  and,  to  a  considerable  extent, 
practical. 

The  state  of  the  legislation  against  heresy  was  not  as  yet 
mortal  to  it ;  the  principle  of  persecution,  the  idea  that  truth 
had  a  right  to  govern  by  force,  occupied  men's  minds,  but  it 
flid  not  yet  dominate  in  facts.  Civil  power  began  to  lend  a 
strong  hand  to  the  cliurch  against  the  heretics,  and  to  be 
severe  against  them  ;  they  were  exiled,  certain  functions  were 
interdicted  them,  they  were  despoiled  of  their  property  ;  some 
even,  as  the  Prisciilianists,  in  385,  were  condemned  to  death  : 
the  laws  of  the  emperors,  especially  those  of  Theodosius  the 
Great,  were  full  of  menaces  and  provisions  against  heresy  ;  the 
course  of  things,  in  short,  evidently  tended  to  tyranny  ;  civil 
power,  however,  still  hesitated  to  make  itself  the  instrument 
of  doctrines;  the  greatest  bishops.  Saint  Hilary,  Saint  Am- 
brose, Saint  Martin,  still  cried  out  against  all  capital  condem- 
nation of  heretics,  saying  that  the  church  had  no  right  to 
employ  other  than  spiritual  arms.  In  a  word,  although  the 
principle  of  persecution  was  in  progress,  and  in  very  threat- 
ening progress,  liberty  was  still  stronger :  a  dangerous  and 
tempestuous  liberty,  but  active  and  general ;  a  man  was  a 
heretic  at  his  peril  ;  but  he  might  be  one  if  he  pleased ;  and 
men  might  sustain,  they  did  sustain,  their  opinions,  for  a  long 
period,  with  energy,  with  publicity.  It  will  sufBce  to  glance 
at  the  canons  of  the  councils  of  this  epoch  in  order  to  be  con- 
vinced that  liberty  was  still  great:  with  the  exception  of  two 
or  three  great  general  councils,  these  assemblies,  particularly 
in  Gaul,  scarcely  concerned  themselves  with  anything  more 
than  discipline  ;  questions  of  theory,  of  doctrine,  appeared 
there  rarely  and  only  upon  great  occasions ;  it  was  more 
especially  the  government  of  the  church,  her  situation,  the 
rights  and  duties  of  priests,  that  they  t:eatcd  of  and  decided 
upon  :  a  proof  that,  in  numerous  points  diversity  of  ideas  wm 
admitted  and  debate  still  open. 

Thus,  on  one  side,  the  very  nature  of  the  labors,  and  Oft 
the  other  the  situation  of  minds,  fully  explain  the  intellectuaJ 


102  HISTORY   OF 

Buperioiity  of  the  religious  society  over  the  civil  society; 
the  one  state  was  earnest  and  free,  the  other  servile  ami 
frivolous  :  what  is  there  to  add  ? 

But  one  final  observation,  one,  however,  which  is  not  without 
importar.ce,  and  which,  perhaps,  fully  explains  why  civil 
literature  was  on  the  point  of  death,  while  religious  lituraturo 
lived  and  prospered  so  energetically. 

For  the  culture  of  mind,  for  the  sciences,  for  literature,  to 
prosper  by  themselves,  independently  of  all  near  and  direcl 
interest,  happy  and  peaceable  times  are  requisite,  times  ot 
contentment  and  good  fortune  for  men.  When  the  social 
state  becomes  difficult,  rude,  unhappy,  when  men  suffer  much 
and  long,  study  runs  a  great  risk  of  being  neglected  and 
of  declining.  The  taste  for  pure  truth,  the  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful,  apart  from  all  other  desire,  are  plants  as  delicate  as 
they  are  noble ;  they  must  have  a  pure  sky,  a  brilliant,  sun,  a 
soft  atmosphere  ;  amid  storms  they  droop  the  head  and  fade. 
Intellectual  development,  the  labor  of  mind  to  attain  truth, 
will  stop  uidess  placed  in  the  train,  and  under  the  shield,  of 
some  one  of  the  actual,  immediate,  powerful  interests  of  )m- 
manity.  This  is  what  happened  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
empire :  study,  literature,  pure  intellectual  activity,  were 
unable  alone  to  resist  disasters,  sufferings,  universal  dis- 
couragement J  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  be  attached 
to  popular  sentiments  and  interests  ;  that  they  should  cease 
to  appear  a  luxury,  and  should  become  a  need.  The  Christian 
religion  furnished  them  with  the  means  ;  by  uniting  with  it, 
philosophy  and  literature  were  saved  the  ruin  which  menaced 
them  ;  their  activity  had  then  practical,  direct  results  ;  they 
showed  an  application  to  direct  men  in  their  conduct,  towards 
their  welfare.  It  may  be  said  without  exaggeration  tliat 
the  human  mind  proscribed,  beaten  down  with  the  storm, 
took  refuge  in  the  asylum  of  churches  and  monasteries  ;  it 
supplicatingly  embraced  the  altars,  and  entreated  to  live 
under  their  shelter  and  in  their  service,  until  better  timtf 
permitted  it  to  re-apoear  in  the  world  and  to  breathe  the  free 
air. 

I  shall  not  go  any  further  into  this  comparison  of  the  moral 
^tate  of  the  two  societies  in  the  fifth  century  ;  we  know 
enough  of  it,  I  think,  to  understand  them  both  clearly.  It  is 
now  necessary  to  enter  deeper  into  the  examination  of  the 
religious  society,  alone  living  and  fertile  ;  it  is  necessary  to 
seek   to   discover  whai  questions  occupied  it,  what  solutions 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCt.  103 

were  proposed  to  it,  what  controversies  were  powerful 
and  popular,  what  was  their  influence  upon  the  life  and 
actions  of  mankind  This  will  be  the  subject  of  our  next 
lectures. 


IM  HiSToav  OP 


FIFTH  LECTURE. 

01  the  principal  questions  debated  in  Gaul  in  the  fifth  century — 0( 
Pelagianism — Of  the  method  to  follow  in  its  history— Of  the  mora) 
facts  which  gave  place  to  this  controversy:  1st,  of  human  liberty  : 
2d,  of  the  impotency  of  liberty,  and  the  necessity  for  an  external 
succor  ;  3d,  of  the  influence  of  external  circumstances  upon  liberty  ; 
4th,  of  the  moral  changes  whicii  happen  in  the  soul  without  man 
attributing  them  to  his  will— Of  the  questions  which  naturally  arose 
from  these  facts — Of  the  special  point  of  view  under  whicli  we 
should  consider  them  in  the  Christian  church  in  the  filth  century 
— History  of  Pelagianism  at  Rome,  in  Africa,  in  the  East,  and  in 
Gaul— Pelagius — Celestius— Saint  Augustin — History  of  semi-Pela- 
gianism — Cassienus — Faustus — Saint  Prosper  of  Aquitaine— Of  pre- 
destination— Influence  and  general  results  of  this  controversy. 

In  the  last  lecture,  I  attempted  to  picture,  but  only  under 
its  general  features,  the  comparative  moral  state  of  civil  so- 
ciety and  of  religious  society  in  Gaul  at  the  fifth  century. 
Let  us  enter  deeper  into  the  examination  of  religious  society, 
the  only  one  which  furnishes  ample  matter  for  study  and 
reflection. 

The  principal  questions  which  occupied  the  Gaulish  Chri.s- 
tian  society  in  the  fifth  century  were — 1st,  Pelagianism,  or 
the  heresy  of  Pelagius,  the  principal  opponent  of  which  was 
Saint  Augustin  ;  2d,  the  nature  of  tiie  soul,  debated  in  the 
south  of  Gaul  between  bishop  Faustus  and  the  priest  Mamer- 
tius  Claudienus  j  3d,  various  points  of  worship  and  of  disci- 
pline, rather  than  of  doctrine,  such  as  the  worship  of  tlie 
martyrs,  the  value  to  be  attached  to  fastings,  austerities, 
celibacy,  &c.  ;  these,  as  you  have  seen,  were  the  objects  to 
which  Vigilantius  applied  his  writings ;  4th,  the  prolongation 
Df  the  struggle  of  Ciiristianity  against  Paganism  and  Juda- 
ism, the  theses  of  the  two  dialogues  of  the  monk  Evagrius, 
between  the  Jew  Simon  and  the  Christian  Theophilus,  and  the 
Christian  Zacheus,  and  the  philosopher  Apollonius. 

Of  all  these  questions,  Pelagianism  was  by  far  the  most 
important :  it  was  tiie  great  intellectual  controversy  of  the 
church  in  the  fifth   century,  as   Ariatiism   had  been  in  the 


CIVIMZATION    IN    FRANCE.  106 

(ourtli.     It  is  witli  its  liislory  that  we  are  now  about  Ic  occupy 
ourselves. 

Every  one  is  aware  that  this  controversy  turned  ujx)n  the 
question  of  free-will  and  of  grace,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  rela- 
tions between  the  liberty  of  man,  and  the  Divine  power,  of 
the  influence  of  God  upon  the  moral  activity  of  men. 

Hefore  proceeding  with  the  history  of  this  affair,  I  will  in 
dicate  the  method  upon  which  I  propose  to  proceed. 

The  mere  statement  of  the  question  will  show  you  that  it 
was  one  not  peculiar  either  to  the  fifth  century  or  to  Chrisli- 
anity,  but  that  it  is  a  universal  problem  common  to  all  times 
anJ  all  places,  and  which  all  religions,  all  systems  of  philo- 
sophy,  have  propounded  to  themselves,  and  have  endeavored 
to  solve. 

It  has,  therefore,  manifest  reference  to  primitive,  universal, 
moral  facts,  facts  itdierent  in  human  nature,  and  which  oh. 
nervation  may  discover  there.  I  will,  in  the  first  place,  seek 
out  these  facts ;  I  will  endeavor  to  distinguish  in  man  in 
general,  independently  of  all  considerations  of  time,  place,  or 
particular  creed,  the  natural  elements,  the  first  matter,  so  to 
«pcak,  of  the  I'elagian  controversy.  I  shall  bring  these  facts 
fo  light,  without  adding  anything  thereto,  without  retrenching 
anything  therefrom,  without  discussing  them,  solely  applied 
to  prove  and  describe  them. 

I  shall  then  show  what  questions  naturally  flowed  from 
natural  facts,  what  diflicultics,  what  controversies,  arose  out 
of  them,  independently  of  all  particular  circumstances  of  time, 
place,  or  social  state. 

This  done,  and,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  the  general 
theoretical  side  of  the  question  once  thoroughly  established, 
[  shall  determine  under  what  special  point  these  moral  facts 
should  be  considered  at  the  fifth  century,  by  the  defenders  of 
the  various  opinions  in  debate. 

Finally,  after  having  thus  explained  from  what  sources 
and  under  what  auspices  Pelagianism  was  born,  I  shall  recount 
its  history  ;  I  shall  attempt  to  follow,  in  their  relations  and 
their  progress,  the  principal  ideas  which  it  suscitated,  in  order 
properly  to  understand  what  was  the  state  of  mind  at  the 
moment  when  this  great  controversy  arose,  what  it  did  therein, 
and  at  what  point  it  left  it. 

I  must  request  your  most  scrupulous  attention,  especially 
m  th«  exMTiination  of  the  moral  facts  to  which  the  question 
attaches  itself:  they  are  diflicult  properly  to  understand,  to  ex 


106  HISTORY    OF 

press  wilh  precision  j  I  should  wish  nothing  should  be  wanting 
to  them  in  clearness  and  certainty,  and  I  have  hardly  time  tc 
indicate  them  in  a  cursory  manner. 

The  first,  that  which  forms  the  foundation  of  the  whole 
ijuarrel,  is  liberty,  free-will,  the  human  will.  In  order  to 
understand  this  fact  exactly,  it  must  be  disengaged  from  all 
Ibreign  element,  and  strictly  reduced  to  itself.  It  is,  I  believe, 
(or  want  of  this  care  that  it  has  been  so  often  but  ill  compre- 
hended ;  men  have  not  placed  themselves  in  front  of  the  fact 
of  liberty,  and  of  that  alone  ;  they  have  seen  and  described  it, 
so  to  speak,  mixed  up  with  other  facts  wliicli  occupy  a  very 
close  position  to  it  in  moral  life,  but  do  not  the  less  essentially 
diifer  from  it.  For  example,  they  have  made  human  liberty 
to  consist  in  the  power  to  deliberate  and  choose  between  mo- 
tives of  action  :  the  deliberation  and  judgment  which  proceed 
therefrom  have,  been  considered  as  the  essence  of  free-will. 
It  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  These  are  acts  of  intellect,  and  not 
of  liberty ;  it  is  before  the  intellect  that  the  dilferent  motives 
of  action,  interf>sts,  passions,  opinions,  &lc.,  aj)pear  :  the  in- 
tellect considers  compares,  estimates,  weighs,  and  finally  judges 
them.  This  is  a  preparatory  work,  which  precedes  the  act 
of  will,  but  doe-?  not  in  any  way  constitute  it.  When  the  de- 
liberation has  taken  place,  when  man  has  taken  full  cognizance 
of  the  motives  which  presented  tliemselves  to  him,  and  of  their 
value,  then  comes  an  entirely  new  fact,  entirely  dilFerent,  the 
fact  of  liberty  ;  man  takes  a  resolution,  that  is  to  say,  com- 
mences a  series  of  facts  which  have  their  source  in  himself, 
of  which  he  looks  upon  himself  as  the  author,  which  arise 
because  he  wishes  it,  and  which  would  not  arise  unless  he 
wished  it,  which  would  be  different  if  he  desired  to  produce 
them  differently.  Remove  all  recollection  of  intellectual 
deliberation,  of  motives  known  and  appreciated  ;  concentre 
your  thought  and  that  of  the  man  who  takes  a  resolution  at 
the  very  moment  that  it  occurs  to  him,  when  he  says:  "I  will, 
I  will  do  so,"  and  ask  yourself,  ask  him,  if  l»e  could  not  will 
and  do  otherwise.  Of  a  surety,  you  will  answer — lie  wdl 
answer,  "  Yes."  Here  the  fact  of  liberty  is  shown  :  it 
resides  complete  in  the  resolution  which  man  takes  after 
deliberation :  it  is  the  resolution  which  is  the  proper  act  of 
man,  which  suosists  by  him,  and  by  him  alone ;  a  simple  act, 
independent  of  all  the  facts  which  precede  it,  or  surround  it ; 
Identical  in  the  most  diverse  circumstances  ;  always  the  same; 
whatever  may  be  its  motives  and  its  results. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  107 

Man  sees  this  net  just  as  lie  produces  it;  he  knows  himself 
D  be  free,  he  is  conscious  of  his  liberty.  Tl  5  conscience  is 
hat  faculty  wliich  man  possesses  of  contemplating  what  passes 
within  him,  of  being  present  at  his  own  existence,  of  being  as 
it  were  a  spectator  of  himself.  Whatever  may  be  the  facts 
which  are  accomplished  within  man,  it  is  by  the  fact  of  con- 
science that  they  are  shown  to  him ;  the  conscience  attests 
liberty,  the  same  as  sensation,  as  thought ;  man  sees,  know,^ 
himself  free,  as  he  sees,  as  he  knows  himself  thinking,  reflect- 
ing, judging.  People  have  often  attempted,  even  now  they 
attempt  to  establish,  between  these  various  facts,  some  sort  of 
inequality  of  clearness,  of  certainty  :  they  rise  against  whal 
(hey  call  the  assumption  of  introducing  the  facts  of  conscience, 
unknown  and  obscure  facts,  into  science ;  sensation,  percep- 
tion, say  they,  these  are  clear,  proved  :  but  the  facts  of  con- 
science, where  are  they  ?  what  are  they?  I  do  not  think  there 
is  any  need  to  insist  long  on  this  point :  sensation,  perception, 
are  facts  of  conscience  as  well  as  liberty  ;  man  sees  them  in  the 
same  manner,  with  the  same  degree  of  light,  and  of  certainty. 
He  may  lend  his  attention  to  certain  facts  of  conscience, 
rather  than  others,  and  forget  or  misunderstand  those  which 
he  regards  not:  the  opinion  to  which  I  have  this  moment 
made  allusion  is  proof  of  this:  but  when  he  observes  himself 
in  a  complete  manner,  when  he  is  present  without  losing  any 
part  of  it,  at  the  spectacle  of  his  internal  life,  he  has  little 
trouble  in  being  convinced  that  all  the  scenes  pass  upon  tho 
same  stage,  and  arc  known  to  him  on  the  same  principle  and 
in  the  same  manner. 

I  desire  that  the  fact  of  human  liberty,  thus  reduced  to  its 
proper  and  distinctive  nature,  should  remain  fully  present  to 
your  thought  ;  for  its  confusion  with  other  facts,  bordering 
upon,  but  diflerent  from  it,  was  one  of  the  chief  causes  of 
trouble  and  debate  in  the  great  controversy  with  which  we 
have  to  occupy  ourselves. 

A  second  fact,  equally  natural,  equally  universal,  played  a 
considerable  part  in  this  controversy. 

At  the  same  time  that  man  felt  himself  free,  that  he  saw 
in  himself  the  faculty  of  commencing,  by  his  will  alone,  a 
series  of  facts,  he  also  acknowledged  that  his  will  was  placed 
imJer  the  empire  of  a  certain  law  which,  according  to  the 
occasions  to  which  it  applied  itself,  took  difTerent  names,  moral 
law,  reason,  good  sense,  &c.  He  is  free ;  but,  in  his  own  thought, 
nis  freedom  is  not  arbitrary ;   he  may  use  it   in  a  senselessi 


108  HISTORY    OF 

unjust,  guilty  manner ;  and  each  tune  that  he  uses  it,  a  •■jeiluir 
rule  must  preside  at  it.  The  observalion  of  this  ruie  is  hi: 
duty,  the  task  of  his  liberty. 

He  will  soon  see  that  he  never  fully  acquits  himself  of  hU 
task,  nor  acts  perfectly  according  to  reason,  moral  law ;  that, 
always  free,  that  is  to  say,  morally  capable  of  conforming 
himself  to  this  rule,  he,  in  fact,  does  not  accomplish  all  thai 
he  ought,  or  even  all  that  he  can.  Upon  every  occasion,  when 
he  scrupulously  interrogates  himself,  and  sincerely  answers 
himself,  he  is  forced  to  say:  "  I  might  have  done  so  and  so, 
if  I  had  chosen  ;"  but  his  will  was  enervated,  backward  ;  it 
went  neither  to  the  end  of  its  duty,  nor  of  its  power. 

This  fact  is  evident,  one  of  which  all  may  give  witness  ; 
there  is  even  this  singularity,  that  the  feeling  of  this  weakness 
of  the  will  becomes  often  so  much  the  more  clear,  so  much 
the  more  pressing,  as  the  moral  man  is  developed  and  per- 
fected :  the  best  men,  that  is,  those  who  have  best  conformed 
their  will  to  reason,  to  morality,  have  often  been  the  most 
struck  with  their  insufiiciency,  the  most  convinced  of  the  pro- 
found inequality  between  the  conduct  of  man  and  his  tusk, 
between  liberty  and  its  law. 

Hence  arises  a  sentiment  which  is  found  under  various 
forms,  in  all  men ;  the  feeling  of  the  necessity  of  an  external 
support,  of  a  fulcrum  for  the  human  will,  a  power  which  ma) 
be  added  to  its  present  power,  and  sustain  it  at  need.  Mar> 
seeks  on  all  sides  to  discover  this  fulcrum,  this  aidin<,» 
power  J  he  demands  it  in  the  encouragements  of  friendship,  in 
the  councils  of  the  wise,  in  the  example,  the  approbation  of 
those  like  himself;  in  the  fear  of  blame ;  there  is  no  one  but 
has  every  day,  in  his  own  conduct,  a  thousand  proofs  to  cite 
of  this  movement  of  the  soul,  eager  to  find  beyond  itself  an 
aid  to  its  liberty,  whicii  it  feels  at  once  to  be  real  and  insudi- 
O'cnt.  And  as  the  visible  world,  the  human  society,  do  nol 
always  answer  to  his  desire,  as  they  are  afilicted  with  the  same 
misuflicingness  which  is  seen  in  his  own  case,  the  soul  goes 
lieyond  the  visible  world,  above  human  relations,  to  seek  tiiis 
fulcrum  of  which  it  has  need  :  the  religious  sentiment  de- 
velopes  itself;  man  addresses  himself  to  God,  and  invokes  his 
aid.  Prayer  is  the  most  elevated,  but  not  the  only  form, 
under  which  the  universal  sentiment  of  the  weakness  of  hu- 
man will,  this  recourse  to  an  external  and  allied  power,  is 
manifested. 

And  such  is  the  nature  of  man,  that  when  he  sincnreh 


CIVILIZAVION    IN    FRANCE.  109 

asKs  this  support,  he  obtains  it,  that  his  merely  seeking  it  is 
almost  sufficient  to  secure  it.  Whosoever,  feeling  his  will 
weak,  sincerely  invokes  the  encouragement  of  a  friend,  the 
influence  of  wise  counsels,  the  support  of  public  opinion,  or 
addresses  himself  to  God  by  prayer,  soon  feels  his  will 
foitified,  sustained,  in  a  certain  measure,  and  for  a  certain 
lime.  This  is  a  fact  of  daily  experience,  and  which  is  easy 
of  verification. 

Here  is  a  third  whose  importance  shiuld  not  be  forgotten  : 
I  mean  the  influence  of  circumstances  independent  of  mat/ 
upon  the  human  will,  the  empire  of  the  external  world  upon 
liberty.  No  one  denies  the  fact,  but  it  is  necessary  to  estimate 
it  with  exactness,  for,  if  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  it  is  generally 
ill-comprehended. 

I  just  now  distinguished  liberty  from  the  deliberation  which 
precedes  it,  and  which  is  accomplished  by  the  intellect.  Now 
the  circumstances  independent  of  man,  whatsoever  they  be, 
the  place,  the  time  when  the  man  was  born,  habits,  manners, 
education,  events,  influence  in  no  way  the  act  of  liberty, 
such  as  I  have  endeavored  to  describe  it ;  it  is  not  reached 
nor  modified  by  them ;  it  always  remains  identical  and  com- 
plete, whatever  the  motives  which  it  call  forth.  It  is  upon 
these  motives,  in  the  sphere  where  intellect  displays  itself, 
that  external  circumstances  exercise  and  exhaust  tlieir  power. 
The  age,  the  country,  the  world,  in  the  heart  of  which  life 
passes  away,  infinitely  vary  the  elements  of  the  deliberation 
which  precedes  the  will  :  in  consequence  of  this  variation, 
certain  facts,  certain  ideas,  certain  sentiments,  in  this  intel- 
lectual labor,  are  present  or  absent,  near  or  at  a  distance, 
powerful  or  weak  ;  and  the  result  of  this  deliberation,  that  is 
to  say  the  judgment  formed  upon  the  motives,  is  greatly 
affected  by  it.  But  the  act  of  the  will  which  follows  it  remains 
essentially  the  same :  it  is  only  indirectly,  and  by  reason  of 
the  diversity  of  the  elements  introduced  into  the  deliberation, 
that  the  conduct  of  men  undergoes  this  influence  of  the 
external  world.  One  illustration,  I  hope,  will  make  me 
f'jlly  understood.  In  accordance  with  the  customs  of  his 
tribe,  to  fulfil  what  he  regards  as  a  duty,  a  savage  relucfatitly 
kills  his  aged  and  infirm  father:  a  European,  on  the  contrary 
supports  Ilia  parent,  tends  him,  devotes  himself  to  the  alleviation 
jf  his  old  age  and  infirmities;  nothing  assuredly  can  be  more 
different  than  the  ideas  which,  in  the  two  cases,  constitute  the 
groundwork  of  the  deliberation   which    precedes  the  action, 


110  HISTORY    0( 

and  the  results  which  accompany  it :  nothing  more  uneq ua< 
than  the  legitimacy,  the  moral  worth  of  the  two  actions  in 
themselves,  but  as  to  the  resolution,  the  free  and  personal 
act  of  the  European,  and  of  the  savage,  are  they  not  alike, 
if  accomplished  with  the  same  intention,  and  with  the  samo 
degree  of  efibrt  ? 

Thus  the  influence  of  circumstances  independent  of  the 
will,  upon  the  motives  and  the  consequences  of  free  action,  is 
immense,  but  that  is  the  only  field  in  which  it  exercises  itself* 
the  lower  fact  placed  between  deliberation  and  exterior  action, 
the  fact  of  liberty,  remains  the  same,  and  accomplishes  itself 
in  like  manner  amidst  the  most  varying  elements. 

I  now  come  to  the  fourth  and  last  of  the  great  moral  facts, 
a  knowledge  of  which  is  indispensable,  before  we  can  com- 
prehend  the  history  of  Pelagianism.  There  are  many  others 
which  I  might  enumerate  ;  but  these  are  of  minor  importance, 
obvious  results  of  those  which  I  here  describe,  and  I  have  no 
time  to  enter  into  an  account  of  them. 

There  arc  certain  changes,  certain  moral  events,  which 
accomplish  and  manifest  themselves  in  man  without  his  being 
able  to  refer  their  origin  to  an  act  of  his  will,  or  being  able 
to  recognize  their  author. 

This  assertion  may  at  first  glance  surprise  some  of  you ;  I 
will  endeavor  to  illustrate  it  by  analogous  facts,  which  occur 
more  frequently  within  the  domain  of  intelligence,  and  are 
more  readily  apprehended. 

There  is  no  one  who  at  some  time  or  other  of  his  life  after 
laboriously  seeking  some  idea,  some  reminiscence,  has  not 
fallen  asleep  in  the  midst  of  the  search  without  having  suc- 
ceeded in  it,  and  next  morning,  on  awaking,  found  the  desired 
object  fully  present  to  his  mind.  There  is  no  scholar  to  whom 
it  has  not  occurred  to  have  retired  to  rest  without  having  ac- 
quired the  lesson  he  has  been  studying,  and  to  have  arisen 
next  morning  and  learned  it  without  the  least  dilhculty.  I 
might  show  many  other  illustrations  of  the  same  description  : 
I  select  these  as  the  simplest  and  most  incontestable. 

I  deduce  from  them  this  consequence  :  independently  of  the 
voluntary  and  deliberate  activity  of  the  will,  a  certain  interior 
and  spontaneous  labor  accomplishes  itself  in  the  understand, 
ing  of  man,  a  labor  which  we  do  not  direct  or  control,  ot 
which  we  have  no  opportunity  of  observing  the  progress,  and 
yet  a  real  and  productive  labor. 

There  is,  after  all,  nothing  strange  in  this  :   every  one  of 


HISTORY    OF  111 

ne  brings  with  him  into  the  world  an  intellectual  nature  of 
his  own.  Man,  by  the  operation  of  his  will,  flirccts  and 
modifies,  exalts  or  debases  his  moral  being,  but  he  does  nol 
create  it  he  has  received  it,  and  received  it  endowed  with 
certain  individual  dispositions,  with  a  spontaneous  force. 
The  inborn  diversity  of  men  in  the  moral  point  of  view,  as 
in  the  physical,  is  beyond  dispute.  Now,  in  the  sa:ne  way 
that  tlie  physical  nature  of  each  man  developes  itself  sponta- 
neously  and  by  its  own  virtue,  so,  in  the  same  way,  though  in 
a  very  unequal  degree,  there  is  operated  in  his  intellectual 
nature,  set  in  motion  by  his  relations  with  the  extt-'rnal  world, 
or  by  his  will  itself,  a  certain  involuntary,  imperceptible  de- 
velopment, and,  to  use  an  expression,  which  I  only  avail 
myself  of  because  it  figuratively  expresses  the  idea  I  wish  to 
convey,  a  sort  of  vegetation,  bearing  naturally,  and  in  due 
course,  its  fruits. 

That  which  takes  place  in  the  intellectual  order,  happens 
in  like  manner  in  the  moral  order.  Certain  facts  occur  in 
the  interior  of  the  human  soul  which  it  does  not  refer  to  itself, 
which  it  does  not  recognize  as  the  work  of  its  own  will ;  there 
are  certain  days,  certain  moments,  in  which  it  finds  itself  in 
a  difTerent  moral  state  from  that  which  it  was  last  conscious 
of  under  the  operation  of  its  own  will.  It  cannot  trace  back 
the  progress  of  the  change  to  its  source  ;  it  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  it  took  place  without  its  concurrence.  In  other  words, 
the  moral  man  does  not  wholly  create  himself;  he  is  con- 
scious that  causes,  that  powers  external  to  himself,  act  upon 
him  and  modify  him  imperceptibly  ;  in  his  moral  life,  as  in 
his  future  d  ^stiny,  tliere  are  points  utterly  inexplicable  to  him, 
of  which  he  knows  nothing. 

Nor  is  it  necessary,  to  convince  himself  of  this  fact,  that  he 
should  turn  to  those  great  moral  revolutions,  those  sudden, 
marked  changes,  v/hich  the  human  soul,  undoubtedly,  may  at 
times  experience,  but  which  ever  receive  a  high  coloring 
from  the  imagination  of  the  narrators,  and  of  which  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  form  an  adequate  appreciation.  It  is  only  necessarj 
to  look  into  oneself,  to  discover  there  more  than  one  example 
•)f  these  involuntary  modifications.  There  is  no  one,  who,  on 
observation  of  his  internal  life,  will  not  easily  recognize  that 
the  vicissitudes,  the  development  of  his  moral  being,  are  nol 
all  the  result,  either  of  the  action  of  his  will,  or  of  the  ex- 
ternal circumstances  that  are  known  to  him. 

Such   are   the   principal   moral    facts   connected   with   the 


112  CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 

Pelagian  controversy,  such  as  human  nature,  simple,  universal 
nature,  communicates  them  to  us,  apart  from  the  historical 
details,  the  particular  circumstance  of  Pelagianism  itself. 
You  at  once  see,  that  from  these  facts  alone,  still  apart  from 
all  special  and  accidental  elements,  there  results  a  multitude 
of  questions,  the  groundwork  of  many  a  grave  discussion. 
And,  in  the  first  place,  we  may  question  tlie  reality  of  the 
facts  themselves:  all  of  them,  indeed,  are  not  equally  exposed 
to  this  danger ;  the  fact  of  human  liberty,  for  instance,  is 
more  evident,  more  irresistible,  than  any  of  the  rest  ;  yet  even 
this  has  been  denied,  as  all  tilings  may  be  denied,  seeing  that 
there  are  no  bounds  to  the  vast  field  of  error. 

Admit  the  facts,  acknowledge  them  fully :  then  comes  the 
question,  whether  we  may  not  be  mistaken  as  to  the  place 
which  each  occupies,  or  to  the  part  which  each  plays  in  the 
moral  life;  we  may  have  measured  inexactly  their  extent,  their 
importance ;  we  may  have  given  too  large  or  too  small  a  part 
to  liberty,  to  external  circumstances,  to  the  weakness  of  the 
will,  to  unknown  influences,  &i,c. 

Again,  altogether  different  explanations  of  the  facts  tliem- 
selves  may  be  suggested.  In  reference,  for  example,  to  the 
involuntary,  imperceptible  changes  which  occur  in  the  moral 
state  of  man  ;  it  may  be  said  that  these  are  assignable  to  some 
want  of  due  attention  on  the  part  of  tiie  soul,  to  its  not  re- 
membering all  that  passes  within  itselt"",  to  its  having  forgotten 
some  act  of  the  will,  some  res(jlution,  some  impression,  which 
lias  produced  consequences,  the  thread  of  winch  it  has  not 
followed,  the  development  of  which  it  has  not  observed.  Or, 
to  explain  these  obscure,  doubtful  facts  of  the  moral  life,  re- 
course  may  at  once  be  had  to  a  direct,  special  action,  of  God 
upon  man,  to  a  permanent  relation  between  the  action  of  God 
and  the  activity  of  man.  Or,  finally,  attempts  may  lie  made 
to  reconcile  these  facts  together  in  various  ways  ;  to  reduce 
them  into  a  system  upon  such  or  such  a  principle,  to  refer 
them  to  such  or  such  a  general  doctrine  upon  the  nature  and 
destiny  of  man  and  of  the  world.  Tlius,  in  a  variety  of  ways, 
an  infinity  of  questions  may  arise  ;  from  the  nature  alone  of 
the  facts  under  consideration,  taken  in  themselves  and  in  their 
generality,  they  are  a  fruitful  subject  of  discussion. 

And  how  mucii  wider  still  the  field  of  controversy,  when 
particular,  local,  temporary  causes  vary  still  more  the  point 
)f  view  under  which  we  regard  these  questions,  modify  the 
.>ogi)ixunce  whicii   the   human  mind  takes  of  thorn,  diverting 


HISTORY    OF  118 

Its  inquiries  into  one  direction  rather  than  .nto  another,  giv- 
ing greater  or  less  prominence,  greater  or  less  effect  to  thia 
or  to  that  fact.  This,  which  always  happens,  happened  of 
course  in  the  fifth  century.  I  have  endeavored  to  reascend 
with  you  to  the  natural  and  purely  moral  sources  of  the  Pe- 
lagian controversy  :  it  is  now  necessary  that  we  should  con- 
sider its  historical  origins;  they  are  no  less  necessary  to  fh" 
proper  comprehension  of  it. 

In  the  bosom  of  the  Christian  church,  the  moral  facts  which 
1  have  described  were,  as  a  matter  of  inevitable  course,  con- 
sidered in  various  points  of  view. 

Christianity  was  an  essentially  practical  revolution,  not  a 
mere  scientific,  speculative  reform.  Its  prominent  aim  was 
to  change  the  moral  state,  to  govern  the  life  of  men  ;  and  not 
only  that  of  particular  men,  but  of  whole  nations,  of  the  entire 
human  race. 

This  was  a  prodigious  innovation.  The  Greek  philosophy, 
at  least  since  the  period  when  its  history  becomes  clear  and 
certain,  was  essentially  scientific,  was  applied  far  more  to  the 
research  of  truth  than  to  tlie  reformation  and  direction  of 
manners.  There  were  only  two  of  its  schools  which  took  a 
somewhat  different  direction.  It  entered  into  the  formal 
plan  of  the  stoics,  and  of  the  new  Platonists,  to  exercise  a 
moral  influence,  to  regulate  the  conduct,  as  well  as  to  en- 
ligliten  the  understanding ;  but  their  ambition  in  this  respect 
was  limited  to  a  small  number  of  disciples — to  a  sort  of  in- 
tellectual aristocracy. 

It  was,  on  the  contrary,  the  special  and  characteristic  design 
of  Christianity  to  effect  a  moral  reformation,  a  universal  re- 
formation— to  govern  throughout  the  world,  in  the  name  of 
its  doctrine,  the  will  and  the  life  of  men. 

As  an  almost  inevitable  consequence,  among  the  moral 
facts  which  constitute  our  nature,  the  chiefs  of  the  Christian 
society  would  apply  themselves  especially  to  give  prominence 
to  tnose  which  are  more  peculiarly  calculated  to  exercise 
a  reforming  influence,  to  bring  about  with  greater  prompti- 
tude |)ractical  effects.  Towards  these  would  the  attention 
of  the  great  bishops,  of  the  fathers  of  the  church,  be  drawn  ; 
for  from  them  they  derived  the  means  of  impelling  Chris- 
tianity  onward  in  its  career,  and  of  accomplishing  their  own 
mission. 

Again,  the  fulcrum  of  the  moral  Christian  reformation  was? 
religion  ;  it  was  religious  ideas,  the  relations  of  man  with  the 


114  HISTORY    OF 

Divinity,  of  the  present  with  the  future  life,  that  constitutea 
,her  force.  Her  chiefs  accordinj^Iy  wouhJ,  among  mora' 
facts,  prefer  and  favor  those  whose  tendency  is  religious 
which  belong  to  the  religious  part  of  our  nature,  and  are,  so 
to  speak,  placed  or.  the  limits  of  present  duties,  and  of  future 
hopes,  of  morality  and  of  religion. 

The  wants  of  Christianity,  and  its  means  of  action  for 
effecting  moral  reform,  and  governing  men,  varied  necessarily 
vvith  time  and  place  :  it  had  to  address  itself  in  the  human 
Koul  now  to  one  fact,  now  to  another ;  to-day,  to  one  condition 
of  things — to-morrow,  to  another.  It  is  evident,  for  instance, 
that  at  various  times,  from  the  first  to  the  fifth  century,  the 
task  of  the  chiefs  of  the  religious  society  was  not  uniformly 
the  same,  and  could  not  be  accomplished  by  the  same  means. 
The  predominant  fact  of  the  first  century  was  the  struggle 
against  paganism — the  necessary  ellbrls  to  overthrow  an 
order  of  things  odious  to  the  state  of  men's  souls — the  work, 
in  a  word,  of  revolution,  of  war.  There  was  incessant  ne- 
cessity  for  appealing  to  the  spirit  of  liberty,  of  examination, 
to  the  energetic  display  of  the  will  ;  this  was  the  moral  fact 
which  Christian  society  of  this  period  invoked  and  displayed 
constantly,  on  all  occasions. 

In  the  fifth  century  things  were  in  a  difTurent  situation. 
The  war  was  at  an  end,  or  nearly  so — the  victory  achieved. 
The  Christian  leaders  had  now  to  regulate  the  reli<fioufc, 
society,  to  promulgate  its  articles  of  faith,  to  order  its  dis- 
cipline, to  constitute  it,  in  a  word,  on  the  ruins  of  that  pagan 
world  over  which  it  had  triumphed.  These  vicissitudes  are 
to  be  met  with  in  all  great  moral  revolutions.  I  need  not 
give  you  further  instances  of  it.  You  perceive  timt  at  thia 
period  it  was  no  longer  the  spirit  of  liberty  which  it  was 
necessary  constantly  to  invoke.  That  which  was  now  to  be 
cultivated  in  its  turn,  was  a  disposition  in  the  people  favour, 
able  to  the  establishment  of  rule,  of  order ;  to  the  e.xercise  of 
power. 

Apply  these  considerations  to  the  natural  and  moral  facts 
whicii  I  have  pointed  out  as  the  sources  of  the  Pelagian  con- 
troversy, and  you  will  easily  distinguish  those  whose  develop- 
ment the  chiefs  of  the  church  were  more  especially  called 
upon  to  promote  in  the  fifth  century. 

There  was  another  cause  which  modified  the  point  of  view 
under  which  they  considered  our  moral  nature.  The  facts 
i^hloh  relate  to  human  liberty,  and  the   problems  wbieh  arise 


CIVJLIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  1  15 

out  of  llioMo  facts,  are  not  isolated  facts  or  isolated  problems; 
Ihcy  are  closely  connected  with  other  facts,  wifii  other  pro. 
bleins  still  inore  general  and  complex  ;  for  instance,  with  the 
question  of  the  origin  of  good  and  evil,  with  the  question 
of  the  general  destiny  of  man,  and  its  essential  relations  witlj 
the  designs  of  God  as  to  the  world.  Now,  upon  the.se  higher 
questions,  there  already  existed  in  the  church  determinate 
doctrines,  fixed  propositions,  accepted  solutions  ;  so  that 
when  now  questions  arose,  the  chiefs  of  the  religious  society 
ikkI  to  adapt  their  ideas  to  the  general  ideas,  to  the  established 
opinions.  Hence  for  them  this  complicated  situation  :  certain 
facts,  certain  moral  problems  attracted  their  attention  ;  they 
might  have  examined  and  judged  them  as  philosophers,  with 
all  the  freedom  of  their  niind.s,  apart  from  all  external  consi- 
derations, from  all  but  the  scientific  point  of  view  ;  but  then 
they  were  invested  with  an  official  power  ;  they  were  called 
upon  to  govern  their  people,  to  regulate  their  actions,  and  to 
direct  their  will.  Hence  a  practical  political  necessity,  which 
weighed  down  upon  the  philosophic  operation  and  turned  it 
aside.  Nor  was  this  all  ;  philosophers  and  politicians,  they 
were  at  the  same  time  compelled  to  the  functions  of  pure 
logicians,  to  conform  implicitly  on  all  occasions  to  the  con.se- 
quences  of  certain  principles,  of  certain  immutable  doctrines. 
They  thus,  as  it  were,  played  three  parts  at  once,  underwent 
at  once  three  yokes ;  they  had  to  consult  at  one  and  the  same 
time  the  nature  of  things,  practical  necessity,  and  hope. 
Whenever  a  new  question  arose,  whenever  they  were  called 
upon  to  take  cognizance  of  moral  facts  to  which  they  had  not 
as  yet  applied  particular  attention,  they  had  to  think  and  to 
act  in  this  triple  character,  to  fulfil  this  triple  mission. 

This,  however,  was  not,  in  the  religious  society,  the  po- 
sition of  all  its  members ;  there  were  many  Christians  who 
did  not  regard  themselves  as  called  upon,  on  the  one  hand,  to 
direct  the  moral  government  of  the  church,  nor  as  bound,  on 
the  other,  to  follow  out,  through  all  its  consequences,  its 
system  of  doctrines.  Among  the  numbers  so  situated,  there 
could  not  fail  to  arise  men  who  assumed  the  right  of  observ- 
ing and  of  acquiring  for  themselves  such  or  such  moral  facts, 
without  taking  much  heed  to  their  practical  influences,  or 
to  their  place  in,  and  connexion  with,  a  general  system  ;  men 
with  minds  less  capacious,  less  powerful  than  those  of  the 
great  chiefs  of  the  church,  but  who,  having  fuller  career  in  a 
less  crowded  field,  imposing  upon  themselves  a  simpler  and 
9.8 


116  HISTORY    OF 

more  easy  task,  might  very  well  arrive  at  more  precise  ant 
definite  knowledge  upon  particular  points.  Tims  arose  the 
heresiarchs. 

Thus  arose  Pelagianism.  You  are  hy  this  time,  I  hope, 
Boquainted  with  the  great  preliminary,  and,  as  it  were,  ex- 
ternal circumstances  which  influenced  its  destiny  j  yoa  have 
before  you  :  1,  the  principal  natural  facts  upon  wi)ii;li  the 
dispute  turned ;  2,  the  questions  which  naturally  arose  out  ot 
those  facts ;  3,  the  special  point  of  view  under  wiiich  these 
facts  and  these  questions  were  considered  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury by  the  leaders  of  the  religious  society,  and  by  the  active 
and  investigating  minds  which  spring  up  in  its  bosom.  Thu.s 
possessed  of  the  guiding  thread,  the  illuminating  torch,  we 
may  now  advantageously  proceed  to  the  history  of  the  Pela- 
gian  controversy  itself. 

The  controversy  arose  early  in  the  fifth  century.  The 
question  of  free  will,  and  of  the  action  of  God  upon  the 
human  soul,  had,  indeed,  already  occupied  the  attention  ot 
the  Christians,  as  is  attested  by  the  letters  of  St.  Paul,  and 
by  many  other  monuments ;  but  the  facts  brought  forward 
had  been  either  accepted  or  rejected,  as  the  case  might  be, 
almost  without  discussion.  Towards  the  close  of  the  fourth 
century,  men  began  to  examine  them  more  closely  ;  and  some 
of  the  chiefs  of  the  church  already  began  to  entertain  some 
uneasiness  on  the  subject.  "  We  must  not,"  says  St.  Augus- 
tin  himself,  "  we  must  not  discourse  much  of  grace  to  men 
who  are  not  yet  Christians,  or  thoroughly  confirmed  Cliris- 
ians  ;  for  it  is  a  knotty  question,  and  one  which  may  give  the 
laith  much  trouble." 

About  the  year  405,  a  British  monk,  Pelagius  (this  is  tlie 
name  given  him  by  the  Greek  and  Latin  writers;  his  real 
name,  it  appears,  was  Morgan),  was  residing  at  Rome. 
There  has  been  infinite  discussion  as  to  his  origin,  his  moral 
character,  his  capacity,  his  learning  ;  and,  under  these  various 
heads,  much  abuse  has  been  lavished  upon  him  ;  but  this 
abuse  would  appear  to  be  unfounded,  for,  judging  from  the 
most  authoritative  testimony,  from  that  of  St.  Augustin  him 
self,  Pelagius  was  a  man  of  good  birth,  of  excellent  education, 
of  pure  life.  A  resident,  as  I  have  said,  at  Rome,  and  now  a 
man  of  mature  age,  without  laying  down  any  distinct  doc- 
trines, without  having  written  any  book  on  the  subject,  Pela- 
gius began,  about  the  year  I  have  mentioned,  405,  to  talk 
much  about  free  will,  to  insist  urgently  upon  this  moral  fact 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


lit 


JO  expound  it.  There  is  no  indication  tlmt  he  attacked  anv 
person  about  the  matter,  or  that  he  sought  controversy  ;  he 
appears  to  have  acted  simply  upon  the  belief  that  human 
liberty  was  not  held  in  sufficient  account,  had  not  its  due 
share  in  the  religious  doctrines  of  the  period. 

These  ideas  excited  no  trouble  in  Rome,  scarcely  any 
debate.  Pelagius  spoke  freely  ;  they  listened  to  him  quietly. 
His  principal  disciple  was  Cclcstius,  like  him  a  monk,  or  so 
it  is  thouglit  at  least,  but  younger,  more  confident,  of  a  more 
darinf  spirit,  and  more  determined  to  prosecute  the  conse- 
quences of  his  opinions  to  the  end. 

In  411,  Pelagius  and  Cclcstius  Are  no  longer  at  Rome  ^ 
we  find  them  in  Africa,  at  Hippo  and  at  Carthage.  In  tho 
latter  town,  Celestius  put  forth  his  ideas :  a  controversy  was 
immediately  begun  between  him  and  the  deacon  Paulinus, 
who  accused  him  of  heresy  before  the  bishop.  In  412  a 
council  was  assembled  ;  Celestius  appeared  there,  and  vigo- 
rously defended  himself;  he  was  excommunicated,  and,  after 
having  in  vain  essayed  an  appeal  to  the  bishop  of  Rome, 
passed  into  Asia,  whither  Pelagius,  it  seems,  had  preceded 
him. 

Their  doctrines  spread ;  they  found  in  the  islands  of  the 
Mediterranean,  among  others  in  Sicily  and  at  Rhodes,  a  fa- 
vorable reception;  they  sent  to  Saint  Augustin  a  small  work 
of  Celestius,  entitled  Dcfinifioncs,  which  many  people  were 
eager  to  read.  Hilary,  a  Gaul,  wrote  to  him  about  it  with  great 
uneasiness.  The  bishop  of  Hippo  began  to  be  alarmed ;  he 
saw  in  these  new  ideas  error  and  peril. 

At  first,  r.mong  the  facts  relative  to  the  moral  activity  of 
man,  that  ot  free  will  was  almost  the  only  one  with  which 
Pelagius  and  Celestius  seemed  to  be  occupied.  Saint  Au- 
gustin was  of  the  same  belief  as  they,  and  had  more  than 
once  proclaimed  it;  but  other  facts,  in  his  opinion,  ought  to 
occupy  a  place  by  the  side  of  this  one;  for  example,  the  in- 
sufficiency of  the  human  will,  the  necessity  for  exterior  aid. 
and  the  moral  changes  which  happen  in  the  soul,  without  her 
being  able  to  claim  them.  Pelagius  and  Celestius"seemed  to 
count  these  nothing:  this  was  the  first  cause  of  the  contest  be- 
tween them  and  the  bishop  of  Hippo,  whose  greater  mind  con- 
fiidered  moral  nature  under  a  greater  number  of  aspects. 

Besides,  Pelagius,  by  the  almost  exclusive  importance  which 
he  gave  to  free-will,  weakened  the  religious  side  of  the  Chris. 
tiftn  doctrine,  and  strengthened,  if  I  may  use  the  expression 


118  nisTORy  of 

the  human  side.  Liberty  is  the  fact  of  man:  he  appears  tliere 
fllone.  In  the  insufficiency  of  the  human  will,  on  tiie  con- 
trary, and  in  the  moral  changes  whicn  it  aoes  not  claim,  there 
is  a  place  for  Divine  intervention.  Now,  the  reforming  power 
of  the  church  was  essentially  religious  j  it  could  not  but  lose, 
under  the  practical  point  of  view,  from  a  theory  which  placed 
in  the  first  rank  a  fact  with  which  religion  had  nothing  to  do, 
and  left  in  the  shade  those  in  which  its  influence  found  occa- 
sion for  exercise. 

Saint  Augustin  was  the  chief  of  the  doctors  of  the  church, 
called  upon  more  than  any  other  to  maintain  tiie  general 
system  of  her  doctrines.  Now,  the  ideas  of  Pelagius  and  of 
Celestius  seemed  to  him  in  contradiction  with  some  of  the  fun- 
damental points  of  the  Christian  faith,  especially  with  the  doc- 
trine of  original  sin  and  of  redemption.  He  attacked  them, 
therefore,  in  a  triple  relation :  as  a  philosopher,  because  their 
knowledge  of  human  nature  was,  in  his  eyes,  narrow  and  in- 
complete ;  as  a  practical  reformer,  and  charged  with  the  go- 
vernment of  the  ciiurch,  because,  according  to  him,  they  weak- 
ened his  most  efficacious  means  of  reformation  and  government ; 
as  a  logician,  because  their  ideas  did  not  exactly  agree  with 
the  consequences  deduced  from  the  essential  principles  of  the 
faith. 

You  see,  from  that  time,  what  a  serious  aspect  the  quarrel 
took :  everything  was  engaged  in  it,  philosophy,  politics,  and 
religion,  the  opinions  of  Saint  Augustin  and  his  business.  Wis 
self-love  and  his  duty.  He  entirely  abandoned  himself  to  it, 
publishing  treatises,  writing  letters,  collecting  information, 
which  came  to  iiim  from  all  parts,  prodigal  of  refutations,  and 
of  counsels,  and  carrying  into  all  his  writings,  all  his  proceed- 
ings,  that  mixture  of  passion  and  mildness,  of  authority  and  of 
8ym[)ati»y,  extent  of  mind  and  logical  rigor,  which  gave  him 
so  rare  a  power. 

Pelagius  and  Celeslius,  on  their  side,  did  not  remain  inac- 
tive;  they  had  found  powerful  friends  in  the  east.  If  Saint 
Jerome  fulminated  against  them  at  Bethlehem,  John,  bishop 
of  Jerusaiep,  zealously  protected  them  :  he  convoked,  on  their 
account,  an  assembly  of  the  priests  of  his  church.  Orosius, 
the  Spaniard,  a  disciple  of  Saint  Augustin,  and  who  happened 
to  be  in  Palestine,  repaired  thither,  and  stated  all  that  had 
passed  in  Africa  upon  the  subject  of  Pelagius,  as  well  as  the 
errors  of  which  ne  was  accused.  On  the  recommendation  of 
bishop  John,  Pelagius  was  called  ;  they  asked  him  if  he  really 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  119 

taught  M'hnt  Augustin  had  refuted.  "  What  is  Augustin  to 
me  ?"  answered  he.  Many  present  were  shocked.  Augustin 
was  then  the  most  celebrated  and  most  respected  doctor  of  the 
church.  They  desired  to  expel  Pelagius,  and  even  to  excom- 
municate him  ;  but  John  turned  aside  the  blow,  caused  Pela- 
gius  to  be  seated,  and  interrogated  him,  saying,  "  It  is  I  who 
am  Augustin  here;  it  is  me  that  thou  shalt  answer."  Pela- 
gius  spoke  Greek,  his  accuser  Orosius  spoke  only  Latin ;  the 
members  of  the  assembly  did  not  understand  him;  they  sepsu 
rated  without  deciding  anything. 

A  short  time  afterwards,  in  the  month  of  December,  415,  a 
council  was  held  in  Palestine,  at  Diospolis,  the  ancient  Lydda, 
composed  of  fourteen  bishops,  and  under  the  presidency  of 
Eulogius,  bishop  of  Caesarea.  Two  Gaulish  bishops,  exiles 
from  their  sees,  Ileros,  bishop  of  Aries,  and  Lazarus,  bishop 
of  Aix,  had  addressed  to  him  a  new  accusation  against  Pela- 
gius. They  were  not  present  at  the  council,  alleging  illness, 
and  probably  informed  that  he  was  little  favorable  to  them. 
Pelagius  appeared  there,  still  protected  by  the  bishop  of  Jeru- 
salem :  they  interrogated  him  concerning  his  opinions ;  he 
explained  them,  modified  them,  adopted  all  that  the  council 
presented  to  him  as  the  true  doctrine  of  the  church,  recounted 
what  he  had  already  suffered,  spoke  of  his  relations  with  many 
holy  bishops,  with  Augustin  himself,  who,  two  years  previously, 
had  written  him  a  letter  intended  to  contest  some  of  his  ideas, 
but  full  of  benevolence  and  mildness.  The  accusation  of 
Heros  and  of  Lazarus  was  read,  but  only  in  Latin,  and  by  the 
interposition  of  an  interpreter.  The  council  declared  itself 
satisfied  ;   Pelagius  was  acquitted  and  declared  orthodox. 

The  report  of  this  decision  soon  arrived  in  Africa,  from 
Africa  into  Europe,  from  city  to  cit} .  As  soon  as  Saint  Au- 
gustin  was  informed  of  the  results  of  the  council  of  Diospolis, 
although  he  had  not  yet  received  its  acts,  he  put  everything 
in  motion  to  resist  their  efFects. 

About  the  same  time  an  incident  occurred  in  Palestine  which 
threw  a  gloomy  hue  over  the  cause  of  Pelagius.  He  remained 
at  Jerusalem,  and  there  had  professed  his  ideas  with  a  greater 
degree  of  assurance.  A  violent  commotion  broke'out  at  Beth- 
lehem against  Saint  Jerome  and  the  monasteries  which  were 
formed  near  him  :  serious  excesses  were  committed,  houses 
were  pillaged,  burnt,  a  deacon  killed  ;  and  Jerome  was  obliged 
to  seek  safety  in  a  tower.  The  Pelagians,  it  is  said,  were  the 
authors  of  these  disorders:  nothing  proves  this,  and  I  am  ra. 


l20  HISTORY    OF 

iher  inclined  to  doubt  it ;  still  there  was  room  for  suspicion 
it   was  generally  believed,  and  a  great  clamor  arose ;  Saint 
Jerome  wrote  to  the  bisiiop  of  Rome,  Innocent  I.,  about  it,  and 
Pelagianism  was  serious.y  compromised. 

Two  solemn  councils  sat  this  year  (416)  in  Africa,  at  Car- 
ihage  and  at  Milcvum ;  sixty-eight  bishops  were  present  at 
the  one,  sixty-one  at  the  other.  Pelagius  and  his  doctrines 
were  ihere  formally  condemned  ;  the  two  assemblies  informed 
the  pope  of  their  decision,  and  Saint  Augustin  wrote  to  him 
privately,  with  four  other  bishops,  giving  him  a  more  detailed 
account  of  the  whole  affair,  and  induced  him  to  examine  Pe- 
lao-ius  in  order  to  proclaim  truth  and  anatiiematise  error. 

On  the  27th  January,  417,  Innocent  answered  the  two  coun- 
cils, to  the  five  bishops,  and  condemned  the  doctrines  of  Pela- 
gius. 

He  did  not  deem  himself  beaten  j  two  months  afterwards, 
Innocent  died  ;  Zosimus  succeeded  him  ;  Celestius  returned  to 
Rome;  he  obtained  from  the  new  pope  a  new  examination,  at 
wiiich  ho  probably  explained  his  opinion,  as  Pelagius  had  ut 
Diospolis  J  and  on  the  2lst  September,  417,  Zosinms  informed 
the  bishops  of  Africa,  by  three  letters,  that  ho  had  scrupulously 
employed  himself  in  this  afTair ;  that  he  had  heard  Celestius 
himself,  at  a  meeting  of  priests  held  in  the  church  of  Saint 
Olement;  that  Pelagius  had  written  to  him  to  justify  himself; 
diat  he  was  satisfied  with  their  explanations,  and  had  rein- 
stated them  in  the  communion  of  tlie  church. 

Hardly  had  these  letters  arrived  in  Africa,  when  a  new 
council  met  at  Carthage  (in  May,  418);  two  hundred  and  three 
bishops'  were  present  at  it ;  in  eight  express  canons  it  con- 
demned the  doctrines  of  Pelagius,  and  addressed  itself  to  the 
emperor  Honorius  in  order  to  obtain  from  him,  against  the 
heretics,  measures  which  might  place  the  church  under  shelter 
from  peril. 

Fron^  418  to  4'21,  appeared  many  edicts  and  letters  of  the 
emperors  Honorius,  Theodosius  II.,  and  Constanlius,  wiiich 
t>anished  Pelagius,  Celestius,  and  their  partisans,  from  Rome, 
and  all  towns  where  they  should  attemp:  to  projjagate  theil 
lata!  errors. 

Pope  Zosimus  did  not  long  resist  the  authority  of  the  coun- 
oils  and  of  the  emperors  ;  he  convoked  a  new  assembly,  in  order 


'  According  to  otli  'is,  two  Inindicd  ami  f(mrt;on. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  l2j 

to  licar  Celcstius  again  ;  but  Cclestlus  had  quitted  Rome,  and 
Zosinius  wrote  to  the  bishops  of  Africa  that  he  liad  condemned 
the  Pelagians. 

The  quarrel  continued  yet  some  time  ;  eighteen  bishops  of 
Italy  refused  to  subscribe  to  the  condemnation  of  Pelagius ; 
tliey  were  deprived  of  their  sees,  and  banished  into  the  east. 
The  triple  decision  of  the  council,  the  pope,  and  the  emperor, 
gave  a  death-blow  to  this  cause.  After  the  year  418,  we 
discover,  in  history,  no  trace  of  Pelagius.  The  name  of 
Coleslius  is  sometimes  met  with  until  the  year  427  ;  it  then 
disappears.  These  two  men  once  off  the  scene,  their  school 
rapidly  declined.  The  opinion  of  Saint  Augustin,  adopted 
by  the  councils,  by  the  popes,  by  the  civil  authority,  became 
the  general  doctrine  of  the  church.  But  the  victory  had  yet 
to  cost  her  some  struggles  ;  Pelagianism  dying,  left  an  heir ; 
the  semi-Pelagians  engaged  in  the  struggle  which  the  Pela. 
gians  could  not  maintain. 

In  the  south  of  Gaul,  in  the  heart  of  the  monasteries  of 
Saint  Lerins  and  of  Saint  Victor,  where  boldness  of  thought 
then  took  refuge,  it  appeared  to  some  men,  among  others  to 
Cassienus,  the  monk  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken,  that 
the  fault  of  Pelagius  was  in  being  too  exclusive,  and  not 
holding  sufficient  account  of  all  the  facts  relative  to  human 
liberty,  and  to  its  relation  with  the  Divine  power.  The  in- 
sufficiency of  the  human  will,  for  example,  the  necessity  for 
exterior  relief,  the  moral  revolutions  which  operate  in  the 
soul,  and  arc  not  its  work,  wore,  he  felt,  real,  important  facts, 
that  should  neither  be  disputed  nor  even  neglected.  Cassienus 
admitted  them  fully,  loudly,  thus  giving  to  the  doctrine  of 
free-will  something  of  the  religious  character  which  Pelagius 
and  Celestius  had  so  much  weakened.  But,  at  the  same  time, 
he  disputed,  more  or  less  openly,  many  of  the  ideas  of  Saint 
Augustin  ;  among  others,  his  explanation  of  the  moral  refor- 
mation and  progressive  sanctification  of  man.  Saint  Augustin 
attributed  them  to  the  direct,  immediate,  special  action  of  God 
upon  the  soul,  to  grace,  properly  so  called,  a  grace  to  which 
man  had  not  title  of  himself,  and  which  proceeded  from 
absolutely  gratuitous  gift,  from  the  free  choice  of  the  Divinity. 

Cassienus  allowed  more  efficacy  to  the  merits  of  man  him- 
s'-lf,  and  maintained  that  his  moral  amelioration  was  partly 
the  work  of  his  own  will,  which  drew  upon  him  divine  snp- 
jwrt,  a"d  produced,  by  a  natural  concatenation,  although  ofler 


122  HISTORY    OF 

unseen,  the  internal  changes  by  which  the  progress  of  sane 
tification  made  itself  known. 

Such,  between  the  semi-Pelagians  and  their  redoubtablf 
adversary,  was  the  principal  subject  of  controversy :  it  com* 
menced  about  the  year  428,  upon  letters  from  Prosper  of 
Aquitaine  and  from  Hilary,  who  had  liustcned  to  inform  SainI 
Augustin  that  Pelagianism  was  again  rising  under  a  new 
form.  The  bishop  oi'  Hippo  immediately  wrote  a  treatise 
entitled  :  De  F ncdcsUnaUune  Sanclorum  el  de  dono  j)erseve- 
rantice.  Prosper  published  his  poem  Against  I/tg rates ;  and 
the  war  of  pamphlets  and  letters  regained  all  its  activity. 

Saint  Augustin  died  in  430;  Saint  Prosper  and  Hilary 
alone  remained  charged  with  prosecuting  Ms  work.  Tliey 
went  to  Rome,  and  had  the  semi-Pelagians  condemned  by 
pope  Celestin.  However  modified  this  doctrine  was,  it  was 
but  little  favorable  in  tlie  church  ;  it  reproduced  a  heresy 
already  vanquished  ;  it  weakened,  altliough  to  a  less  degree, 
the  religious  influence  of  morality  and  of  government ;  it  was 
in  discord  with  the  general  course  of  ideas,  whicii  tended  to 
give  the  greater  share  to  the  Divine  intervention  on  every 
occasion;  it  would  have  fallen  almost  without  resistance,  if  a 
directly  contrary  doctrine,  that  of  the  predestinarians,  had  not 
appeared  and  lent  it  a  few  moments'  power  and  credit. 

From  the  writings  of  Saint  Augustin  upon  tlie  impotence 
of  human  will,  the  nullity  of  its  merits,  and  the  perfectly 
free  and  gratuitous  nature  of  Divine  grace,  some  refractory 
logicians  deduced  the  predestination  of  all  men,  and  the  irre- 
vocability of  the  decrees  of  God  as  to  the  eternal  lot  of  eveiy 
one.  Tlie  first  manifestations  of  this  doctrine  in  the  fifth 
century  are  obscure  and  doubtful ;  but  from  the  time  that  it 
appeared,  it  shocked  the  good  sense  and  moral  equity  of  most 
Christians.  Accordingly,  the  semi-Pelagians  took  up  the 
combat,  and  presented  their  ideas  as  the  natural  counterpoise 
of  such  an  error.  Such  was  especially  the  cliaracteristi'j 
which  was  labored  to  be  impressed  uj)on  semi-Pelagiunism, 
about  the  year  445,  by  Faustus,  bishop  of  Riez,  whom  1  have 
already  named,  and  of  whom,  at  a  later  period,  1  shall  speak 
more  particularly  ;  he  presented  himself  as  a  kind  of  media- 
tor between  the  Pelagians  and  the  predestinarians.  "  It  is 
necessary,"  said  he,  "  in  the  question  of  the  grace  of  God 
and  tlie  obedience  of  man,  to  keep  to  the  middle  path,  and 
.'ncline  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  tlie  left."  According  tu 
{liin,    Pelagius    and    Saint    Augustin    were    both   of  then)  tCMJ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  128 

exclusive :  one  allowed  loo  much  to  human  liberty  and  not 
enough  to  the  action  of  God  ;  the  other  was  too  forgetful  of 
liurnan  liberty.  Tiiis  species  of  compromise  at  first  obtained 
much  favor  in  tlie  Gaulish  church  ;  two  councils  met,  one  at 
Aries,  in  472,  the  other  at  Lyons,  in  473,  formally  conde-inied 
Ihn  predestinarians,  and  charged  Faustus  to  publish  a  treatise 
which  he  had  written  against  them,  entitled,  Of  Grace  and  of 
Ike  Liberty  of  the  Hitman  Will,  even  ordering  him  to  add  some 
further  developments.  Tiiis,  however,  was  but  a  day's  res- 
pitc  for  .semi-Pelagianism,  a  glimmer  of  fortune;  it  was  not 
long  in  again  falling  into  discredit. 

While  still  living,  Saint  Augustin  had  been  accused  of 
advocating  the  doctrine  of  predestination,  the  total  abolition 
of  free-will,  and  he  had  energetically  defended  himself  from 
it.  He  deceived  himself,  I  think,  as  a  logician,  in  denying  a 
consequence  which  inevitably  resulted  from  his  ideas,  on  the 
one  hand,  concerning  the  impotence  and  corruption  of  tho 
human  will — on  the  other,  concerning  the  nature  of  the  Divine 
intervention  and  fore-knowledge. 

But  tiie  superiority  of  Saint  Augustin's  mind  saved  him, 
on  this  occasion,  from  the  errors  into  which  logic  had  nearly 
brought  it,  and  he  was  inconsistent  precisely  because  of  his 
lofty  reason.  Allow  me  to  dwell  a  moment  on  this  moral 
fact,  which  alone  explains  the  contradictions  of  so  many  fine 
geniuses:  I  shall  take  an  example  near  to  us  all,  and  one  of 
the  most  striking.  Most  of  you,  of  course,  have  read  the 
Contrat  Social  of  Rousseau  ;  the  sovereignty  of  number,  of 
the  numerical  majority  is,  as  you  know,  the  fundamental 
principle  of  the  work,  and  Rousseau,  for  a  long  time,  follows 
out  the  consequences  of  it  with  inflexible  rigor ;  a  time  ar- 
rives, however,  when  he  abandons  them,  and  abandons  them 
with  great  eflect ;  he  wishes  to  give  his  fundamental  laws, 
his  constitution,  to  the  rising  society  ;  his  high  intellect  warned 
him  that  such  a  work  could  not  proceed  from  universal  suf. 
frage,  from  the  numerical  majority,  from  the  multitude :  "  A 

God,"  said  he,  "  must  give  laws  to  men." It  is  not  magis- 

tracy,  it  is  not  sovereignty It  is  a  particular  and  superior 

function,  which  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  human  em- 
pire."  And  hereupon  he  sets  up  a  sole  legislator,  a  sage  ; 
thus  violating  his  principle  of  the  sovereignty  of  number,  in 


Contrat  Social,  b.  ii.,  ch.  vii 


124  HISTORY    OF 

order  to  turn  to  an  entirely  different  principle,  to  the  sovft 
reignty  of  intellect,  to  the  right  of  superior  reason. 

The  Contral  Social,  and  almost  all  the  works  of  Rousseau, 
abound  in  similar  contradictions,  and  they  are,  perhaps,  the 
clearest  proof  of  the  great  mind  of  the  author. 

It  was  by  an  inconsistency  of  the  same  kind  that  Saint 
Augustin  resolutely  repelled  the  predestination  which  had 
been  imputed  to  him.  Others,  afterwards,  acute  dialecticians, 
unhesitatingly  went  on  to  this  doctrine  and  settled  to  it :  for 
him,  when  he  perceived  it,  enlightened  by  his  genius,  he 
turned  aside,  and  without  entirely  retracing  his  steps,  took 
flight  in  another  direction,  in  absolutely  refusing  to  abolish 
liberty.  The  church  acted  like  Saint  Augustin ;  it  had 
adopted  his  doctrines  concerning  grace,  and  on  this  score 
condemned  the  Pelagians  and  semi-Pelagians ;  she  likewise 
condemned  the  predestinarians,  thus  taking  from  Cassionua 
and  Faustus,  and  from  their  disciples,  the  pretext  by  favor  of 
which  they  had  somewhat  regained  the  ascendant.  Semi- 
Pelagianism  from  tliat  time  did  nothing  hut  decline  ;  Saint 
Cesarius,  bishop  of  Aries,  at  the  commencement  of  the  sixth 
century,  again  declared  war  against  it,  as  Saint  Augustin  and 
Saint  Prosper  had  done  :  in  529,  the  councils  of  Orange  and 
Valencia  condemned  it;  in  330,  pope  Boniface  II.,  in  hia 
turn,  struck  it  with  a  sentence  of  anathema,  and  it  soon 
ceased,  for  a  long  time  at  least,  to  agitate  minds.  Predesti- 
nation experienced  the  same  fate. 

None  of  these  doctrines  gave  rise  to  a  sect,  properly  so 
ualled  :  they  were  not  separated  from  the  church,  nor  did 
*.hey  constitute  a  distinct  religious  society  ;  they  had  no 
jrganization,  no  worship  :  they  were  mere  opinions  debated 
>etween  men  of  mind  ;  more  or  less  accredited,  more  or  less 
•.ontrary  to  the  official  doctrine  of  the  church,  but  which 
aever  threatened  her  with  a  schism.  Accordingly,  of  their 
\ppearance,  and  of  the  debates  which  they  excited,  there  only 
'.•emained  certain  tendencies,  certain  intellectual  dispositions, 
aot  sects  nor  veritable  schools.  We  meet  at  all  epochs  in  the 
course  of  European  civilization,  1st,  With  minds  preoccupied 
especially  with  Jvhat  there  is  of  humanity  in  our  moral  activ- 
■ty,  with  the  fact  of  liberty,  and  which  thus  attach  themselves 
X)  the  Pelagians.  2d,  With  minds  more  especially  struck 
with  tne  power  of  God  over  man,  with  Divine  intervention  in 
human  activity,  and  inclined  to  make  human  liberty  vanish 
under  the  hand  of  God ;  these  hold  with  the  predestinarians 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  125 

Sd,  Between  those  two  tendencies  was  placed  the  genera! 
doctrine  of  the  church,  which  strove  to  take  into  account  all 
'latural  facts,  human  liberty  and  Divine  intervention  ;  deniea 
that  God  etfects  all  in  man,  that  man  can  do  all  without  the 
assistance  of  God,  and  thus  establishes  itself,  perhaps  with 
more  of  reason  than  of  scientific  consistency,  in  the  regions 
of  good  sense,  the  true  country  of  the  human  mind,  which 
always  returns  there,  after  having  strayed  'n  all  directions 
(^Post  longos  err  ores.) 


126  uiSTOBV  ur 


SIXTH  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture— General  character  of  the  literature  of  the  middle 
ages — Of  the  transition  from  pagan  piiilosophy  to  Christian  theology 
— Of  the  question  of  the  nature  of  the  soul  in  the  Christian  church 
— The  ancient  priests  for  the  most  part  pronounced  in  favor  of  thn 
system  of  materialism — Eflbrts  to  escape  from  it — Analogous  march 
of  ideas  in  pagan  philosophy — Commencement  of  the  system  of  spi- 
rituality— Saint  Augustin.Nemesius,  Mamertius  Claudienus — Faus- 
tus,  bishop  of  Riez — His  arguments  for  the  materiality  of  the  soul — 
Mamertius  Claudienus  answers  him — Importance  of  Mamertius 
Claudienus  in  Gaul — Analysis  of,  and  quotations  from  his  treatise  on 
tiie  nature  of  the  soul — The  dialogue  of  Evagrius  between  Zacheus 
tlie  Christian  and  Apollonius  the  philosopher — Of  tiie  eU'ecls  of  tht* 
invasion  of  the  barbarians  upon  the  moral  state  of  Gaul. 

BiiTWEEN  the  question  which  occupied  us  in  tiio  lust  lecture, 
rtud  that  witli  which  we  shall  now  occupy  ourselves,  the  dii- 
fertiice  is  very  great.  Pelagianism  was  not  only  a  question, 
but  also  an  event ;  it  gave  rise  to  parties,  interests,  passions ; 
it  put  in  movement  councils,  emperors ;  it  influenced  the  fate 
of  many  men.  The  question  of  the  nature  of  the  soul  pro- 
duced nothing  of  the  kind  ;  it  was  carried  on  between  a  few 
able  men  in  a  corner  of  the  empire.  In  the  last  lecture,  I  had 
many  facis  to  recount ;  at  present  I  have  to  speak  of  books 
and  of  arguments. 

I  pray  you  to  mark  the  course  of  our  studies.  We  com- 
menced by  examining  the  social  state,  the  external  and  pub- 
lic facts ;  we  then  passed  to  the  moral  state  of  Gaul ;  we 
sought  it  first  in  general  facts,  in  the  entirety  of  society ; 
then  in  a  great  religious  debate,  in  a  doctrine,  an  active  power- 
ful  doctrine,  which  became  an  event;  we  will  now  study  it  in 
a  simple  philosophical  discussion.  We  shall  thus  penetrate 
more  and  more  into  the  interior  of  men's  minds;  we  first  con- 
sidered  facts,  then  ideas  mingled  with  facts,  and  subject  to 
their  influences;  we  will  now  consider  ideas  by  themselves. 

Before  entering  upon  the  question,  permit  me  to  say  a  few 
words  upon  the  general  character  of  the  literary  writers  of 
this  period  and  of  the  middle  ages  in  general. 

If  you  compare,  on  the  one  hand,  ancient  literature,  Greek 
rxl  Roman  literature,  and  on  the  other  '\and,  modern  litera- 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  121 

*urc,  cspccinll}  so  called,  with  that  of  the  mirltlle  ages,  the 
principal  points,  which,  as  I  think,  will  strike  you,  will  be  the 
following  : 

In  ancient  literature,  the  form  of  the  works,  the  art  of  their 
composition,  and  the  language,  are  admirable  ;  even  when  its 
materials  are  poor,  the  ideas  false  or  confused,  the  workman- 
ship is  so  skilful,  that  it  cannot  fail  to  please;  manifesting  in 
the  author,  a  mind  at  once  natural  and  refined,  whose  inward 
development  far  surpasses  its  acquired  knowledge,  which  hag 
un  exquisite  appreciation  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  peculiar  apt'- 
tilde  for  reproducing  it. 

In  modern  literature,  since  the  sixteenth  century  for  in- 
stance, the  form  is  very  often  imperfect ;  there  is  frequently  a 
deficiency  at  once  of  nature  and  of  art,  but  the  groundwork  if» 
ii)  general  sound  ;  we  meet  with  less  and  less  of  gross  igno- 
rance, of  wanderings  from  the  question,  of  confusion  ;  method, 
common  sense,  in  a  word,  artistic  merit,  is  the  prominent 
feature;  if  the  mind  is  not  always  satisfied,  it  is  at  least  very 
seldom  shocked  ;  the  spectacle  is  not  invariably  a  fine  one,  but 
chaos  has  disappeared. 

The  intellectual  labors  of  the  middle  ages  present  a  dif- 
ferent aspect ;  as  a  general  proposition,  they  are  entirely  de- 
ficient in  artistic  merit ;  the  form  is  rude,  fantastic ;  they  are 
full  of  divergences,  of  incoherent  ideas  ;  they  manifest  a  state 
of  mind,  crude,  uncultivated,  alike  without  interior  develop- 
ment or  acquired  knowledge,  and  accordingly  neither  our 
reason  nor  our  taste  is  satisfied.  This  is  the  reason  why  they 
have  been  forgotten,  why  Greek  and  Roman  literature  have 
survived,  and  will  eternally  survive  the  people  among  whom 
it  respectively  arose.  Yet  under  this  so  imperfect  form, 
amidst  this  so  strange  medley  of  ideas  and  of  facts,  ill  under- 
stood and  ill  combined,  the  books  of  the  middle  ages  are  very 
remarkable  monuments  of  the  activity  and  wealth  of  the  hu- 
man mind  ;  we  meet  in  them  with  many  vigorous  and  original 
conceptions ;  important  questions  are  often  sounded  to  their 
lowest  dc|)ths,  flashes  of  philosophical  truth,  of  literary  beauty, 
glance  at  every  moment  from  the  darkness;  the  mineral  in 
tliis  mine  is  altogether  in  a  rough  state,  but  the  metal  is  plen- 
tiful, and  well  merits  our  research. 

The  writings  of  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries,  moreover, 
liftve  a  character  and  an  interest  peculiar  to  themselves.  It 
was  the  period  at  which  ancient  philosophy  was  giving  way 
before    modern    theology,   in    which   the  one   was   becoming 


128  HISTORY    OF 

transformed  into  the  other ;  in  which  certain  systems  becunw 
docrmas,  certain  schools  sects.  These  periods  of  transition  are 
of  great  importance  ;  are,  perhaps,  in  the  historical  point  of 
view,  the  most  instructive  of  all.  It  is  at  these  periods  only 
that  we  are  able  to  view  simultaneously  and  face  to  face 
certain  facts,  certain  states  of  man  and  of  the  world,  which 
are  generally  only  to  be  seen  by  themselves,  and  separated  by 
whole  centuries  ;  they  are  the  only  periods,  therefore,  in  which 
it  is  easy  for  us  to  compare  these  (acts  and  these  states,  to 
explain  them,  connect  them  together.  The  human  mind  is 
but  too  prone  to  walk  in  but  one  single  path,  to  see  things 
but  under  one  partial,  narrow,  exclusive  aspect,  to  place  itself 
in  prison  ;  it  is,  therefore,  a  very  fortunate  circumstance  for 
it,  when  it  is  compelled,  by  the  very  nature  of  the  spectacle 
placed  before  its  eyes,  to  look  around  it  in  all  directions,  to 
embrace  a  vast  horizon,  to  contemplate  a  great  number  of 
difTerent  objects,  to  study  the  great  problems  of  the  world 
under  all  their  aspects,  and  in  all  their  various  solutions.  It 
is  more  especially  in  the  south  of  Gaul  that  this  character  of 
the  fifth  century  manifests  itself.  You  have  seen  the  activity 
which  prevailed  in  the  religious  society,  and,  among  otiiers, 
in  the  monasteries  of  Lerins  and  Saint-Victor,  the  focus  of  so 
many  daring  opinions.  The  whole  of  this  movement  of  mind 
did  not  emanate  from  Christianity;  it  was  in  the  same  districts, 
in  the  Lyonnese,  the  Viennese,  the  Narbonnese,  Aquitaine, 
that  ancient  civilization  in  its  decline  concentrated  itself.  It 
was  here  that  it  still  exhibited  most  life.  Spain,  Italy  hersflf, 
were  at  this  period  far  less  active  than  Gaul,  far  less  rich  in 
literature  and  in  literary  men.  We  irmst,  perhaps,  attribute 
this  result  to  the  development  which  had  been  assumed  in 
these  provinces  by  Greek  civilization,  and  to  the  prolonged 
influence  there  of  its  philosophy.  In  all  the  great  towns  o( 
southern  Gaul,  at  Marseilles,  at  Aries,  at  Aix,  at  Vienne,  at 
Lyons  itself,  the  Greek  language  was  understood  and  spoken. 
Tliere  were  regular  Greek  exercises  under  Caligula,  in  the 
Athanacum,  an  establishment  at  Lyons,  especially  devoted  to 
that  purpose;  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  century,  when 
Cesarius,  bishop  of  Aries,  required  the  faithful  to  sing  with 
the  clergy  previous  to  the  sermon,  many  of  the  people  sang 
\^  Greek.  We  find  among  the  distinguished  Gauls  of  this 
period  philosophers  of  all  the  Greek  schools;  some  are  nien- 
lioned  as  Pythagoreans,  others  as  Platonists,  others  as  Epica- 
•eans.  others  as  Stoics. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  129 

The  Gaulish  writings  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  century,  wniong 
jthers  that  which  I  atn  about  to  introduce  to  you,  the  treatise 
Df  Maniertius  Claudienus,  On  the  Nature  of  the  Soul,  quote 
passages  from  pliilosophcrs  whose  names  even  we  do  not  meet 
with  elsewhere.  In  short,  there  is  every  evidence  that,  in  the 
philosophical  as  in  the  religious  point  of  view,  Greek  and  Ro- 
man as  well  as  Christian  Gaul  was  at  this  period  the  most 
naimated,  the  most  living  portion  of  the  empire  ;  of  the  western 
empire  at  all  events.  It  is  here,  accordingly,  that  the  transi- 
(jon  from  pagan  philosophy  to  Christian  theology,  from  the  . 
ancient  world  to  the  modern,  is  most  strongly  marked,  most 
clearly  observable. 

In  this  movement  of  mind,  it  was  not  likely  that  the  question 
of  the  nature  of  the  soul  should  remain  long  untouched.  From 
the  first  century  upwards,  we  find  it  the  subject  of  discussion 
amongst  the  doctors  of  the  church,  the  majority  of  whom 
adopted  the  material  hypothesis ;  passages  to  this  effect  are 
abundant.  I  will  select  two  or  three,  which  leave  no  doubl 
as  to  the  prevalent  opinion  on  this  subject.  Tertullian  says 
expressly : 

"  The  corporeality  of  the  soul  is  perfectly  manifest  to  all 
who  read  the  gospel.  The  soul  of  a  man  is  there  represented 
suflcring  its  punishment  in  hell ;  it  is  placed  in  the  midst  of 
the  flame  ;  it  feels  a  tormenting  agony  in  the  tongue,  and  it 
implores,  from  the  hand  of  a  soul  in  bliss,  a  drop  of  water  to 
cool  it.  .  .  There  can  bo  nothing  of  all  this  without  the  pre- 
scnccofthe  body.  The  incorporeal  being  is  free  from  every 
description  of  restraint,  from  all  pain  or  from  all  pleasure,  for 
it  is  in  the  body  alone  that  man  is  punished  or  rewarded."* 

"  Who  does  not  see,"  asks  Arnobius,  "  that  that  which  i? 
ethereal,  immortal,  cannot  feel  pain."^ 

"  We  conceive,"  says  St.  John  of  Damascus,  "  we  conceive 
of  incorporeal  and  of  invisible  beings,  in  two  ways  :  by  essence 
and  by  grace ;  the  former  incorporeal  by  nature,  the  latter 
only  relatively,  and  in  comparison  with  the  grossness  of  mat 
ter.  Thus,  God  is  incorporeal  by  nature ;  as  to  angels,  do 
vils,  and  men's  souls,  we  only  call  them  incorporeal  by  grace, 
and  comparatively  with  the  grossness  of  matter."^ 

I  might  multiply  ad  infinitum  similar  quotations,  all  proving 


'  De  Animfi,  5,  7. 

'  idversus  Gente.i,  ii.  *  De  Orthodox  a  fid'',  ii.  3, 19. 


130  HISrORY   OF 

Ihat  in  the  fiist  ages  of  our  era,  the  materiality  of  the  sou 
was  not  only  the  admitted,  but  that  it  was  tlie  dominant  opinion. 

After  a  while,  the  churci'i  manifested  a  tendency  to  quit 
this  opmion.  We  find  the  fathers  placing  before  themselves 
every  argument  in  favor  of  immateriality.  The  sentence  I 
have  just  quo-ed  from  St.  John  of  Damascus  itself  gives  a 
proof  of  this;  you  find  him  laying  down  a  certain  distinction 
between  material  beings.  The  philosophical  fathers  entered 
upon  ti/e  same  path,  iind  advanced  in  it  with  more  rapid  strides. 
Urigen,  for  instance,  is  so  astonished  at  the  idea  of  a  material 
soul  having  a  conception  of  immaterial  things,  and  arriving 
at  a  true  knowledge,  that  he  concludes  it  to  possess  a  certain 
relative  immortality,  that  is  to  say,  that  material  in  relation 
with  God,  the  only  being  truly  spiritual,  it  is  not  so  in  rela- 
tion with  earthly  things,  with  visible  and  sensual  bodies.^ 

Such  was  the  course  of  ideas  in  the  lieart  of  pagan  philo- 
aophy  ;  in  its  first  essays  dominated  both  the  belief  in  the 
immateriality  of  the  soul,  and  at  llie  same  time  a  certain  pro- 
gressive ellbrt  to  conceive  the  soul  under  a  more  elevated,  a 
more  pure  aspect.  Some  made  of  it  a  vapor,  a  breath ; 
others  declared  it  a  fire;  all  wished  to  purify,  to  refine,  tn 
spiritualize  matter,  in  the  hope  of  arriving  at  the  end  to 
which  they  aspired.  The  same  desire,  the  same  tendency 
existed  in  the  Christian  ciiurcii ;  still  the  idea  of  the  mate- 
riality of  the  soul  was  more  general  among  the  Christian  doc- 
tors frorj  the  first  to  the  fifth  century,  than  among  the  pagan 
philosophers  of  the  same  period.  It  was  against  the  pagan 
philosophers,  and  in  the  name  of  the  religious  interest,  that 
certain  fathers  maintained  this  doctrine;  they  wished  tliut  the 
soul  should  be  material  in  order  tliat  it  might  be  recompensed 
or  punished,  in  order  that  in  passing  to  another  life  it  might 
find  itself  in  a  state  analogous  to  that  in  which  it  had  been 
upon  earth  ;  in  fine,  in  order  that  it  should  not  forget  how  in- 
ferior it  is  to  God,  and  never  be  tempted  to  compare  itself  with 
llim. 

At  the  end  of  the  fourth  century  a  kind  of  revolution  con- 
cerning this  point  was  wrought  in  the  breast  of  the  church  ; 
the  doctrine  of  the  immateriality  of  the  soul,  of  the  original 
and  essential  diflerence  of  the  two  substances,  appeared 
-here,  if  not  for  the  first  time,  at  least  far  more  positively, 
with   far   more    precision    than    hitherto.      It    was  professed 

'  Otigen,de  Principiis,  1.  i  .  r.    1.1    2   r   9 


CIVILIZATION     IN    FRANCE.  131 

fcncl  maintained — first,  in  Africa,  by  Saint  Augubtin  in  hia 
Treatise  de  quantilale  AnimcB  ;  secondly,  in  Asia,  by  Neine- 
sius,  bishop  of  Emcssa,  who  wrote  a  very  remarkable  work 
upon  the  nature  of  man  {ncpt  <^(acot  hvOpiinov) ;  thirdly,  in  Gaul, 
by  Mamertius  Claudienus,  de  naiura  AnimcB.  Confined  tc 
the  history  of  Gaulish  civilization,  this  last  is  the  only  one 
with  which  we  have  to  occupy  ourselves. 

This  is  the  occasion  upon  which  it  was  written.  A  man 
whom  you  already  know,  Faustus,  bishop  of  Riez,  exercised 
a  great  infiucnce  in  the  Gaulish  church  ;  born  a  Breton,  like 
Pelagius,  he  came — it  is  not  known  why — into  the  south  of 
Gaul.  He  became  a  monk  in  the  abbey  of  Lerins,  and  in  433 
was  made  abbot  of  it.  He  instituted  a  great  school,  where 
he  received  the  children  of  rich  parents,  and  brought  them 
up,  teaching  them  all  the  learning  of  the  age.  He  often  con- 
versed  with  his  monks  upon  philosophical  questions,  and,  it 
appears,  was  remarkable  for  his  talent  of  improvisation. 
About  462  he  became  bishop  of  Riez.  I  have  spoken  of  the 
part  taken  by  him  in  the  semi-Pelagian  heresy,  and  of  his 
book  against  the  predestinarians.  He  was  of  an  active,  in- 
dependent spirit,  rather  intermeddling,  and  always  eager  to 
n)ix  in  all  the  quarrels  which  arose.  It  is  not  known  what 
called  his  attention  to  the  nature  of  the  soul :  he  treated  of  it 
at  length  in  a  long  philosophical  letter  addressed  to  a  bishop, 
and  in  which  many  other  questions  are  debated  ;  he  declares 
himself  for  materiality,  and  thus  sums  up  his  principal  argu- 
ments : 

1.  Invisible  things  are  of  one  kind,  incorporeal  things  of 
another.  - 

2.  Everything  created  is  matter,  tangible  by  the  Creator; 
is  corporeal. 

3.  The  soul  occupies  a  place.  1.  It  is  enclosed  in  a  body. 
2.  It  is  not  to  be  found  wherever  its  thought  is.  3.  At  all 
events,  it  is  to  be  found  only  where  its  thought  is.  4.  It  is 
distinct  from  its  thoughts,  which  vary,  which  pass  on,  while  it 
Is  permanent  and  always  the  same  j  5.  It  quits  the  body  at 
death,  and  re-enters  it  by  the  resurrection  ;  witness  Lazarus; 
6.  The  distinction  of  hell  and  heaven,  of  eternal  punishments 
and  rewards,  proves  that  even  after  death  souls  occupy  a 
place,  and  are  corporeal. 

4.  God  alone  is  incorporeal,  because  he  alone  is  intangible 
and  omnipresent.' 

1  I  have  adopted  the  text  of  Faustus,  inserted  in  tl  e  edition  c  f  lli« 
29 


13^  HISTORY    OF 

These  propositions,  laid  down  in  so  unhesitating  and  di* 
linct  a  manner,  are  not  elaborated  to  any  extent ;  and  such 
details  as  the  author  does  enter  into  are  taken  in  general 
from  the  theology,  narratives,  and  authority  of  the  holy 
scriptures. 

The  letter  of  Faustus,  which  was  circulated  anonymously, 
occasioned  considerable  excitement ;  Mamertius  Claudienus, 
brother  of  St,  Mamertius,  bishop  of  Vienne,  and  himself  a 
priest  in  that  diocese,  answered  it  in  his  treatise  On  the 
Nature  of  the  Soul,  a  work  of  far  higher  importance  than  the 
one  which  it  refuted.  Mamertius  Claudienus  was  in  his  day 
tl'.e  most  learned,  the  most  eminent  philosopher  of  southern 
Gaul  ;  to  give  you  an  idea  of  his  reputation,  I  will  read  a 
letter  written  shortly  after  the  philosopher's  death,  to  his 
nephew  Petreius,  by  Sidonius  AppoUinaris,  a  letter,  I  may 
observe,  stamped  with  all  the  ordinary  characteristics  of  this 
writer,  exhibiting  all  the  puerile  elaboration  of  the  professed 
bet  esprit,  with  here  and  there  just  perceptions,  and  curious 
facts. 

"  SIDONIUS    TO    HIS    DEAR    PETREmS.^      HEALTH.'' 

"  I  am  overwhelmed  with  affliction  at  the  loss  which  oui 
age  has  sustained  in  the  recent  loss  of  your  uncle  Claudienus : 
we  shall  never  see  his  like  again.  He  was  full  of  wisdom  and 
judgment,  learned,  eloquent,  ingenious  ;  the  most  intellectual 
man  of  his  period,  of  his  country.  He  remained  a  philosopher, 
without  giving  offence  to  religion  ;  and  though  he  did  not  in- 
dulge  in  the  fancj  of  letting  his  hair  and  his  beard  grow, 
though  he  laughed  at  the  long  cloak  and  stick  of  the  philo- 
sophers,  though  he  sometimes  even  warmly  reprehended  these 
fantastic  appendages,  it  was  only  in  such  matters  of  externals 
and  in  faith,  that  he  separated  from  his  friends  the  Platonists. 
God  of  Heaven !  what  happiness  was  ours  whenever  we  re- 
paired to  him  for  his  counsel.  How  readily  would  he  give 
himself  wholly  to  us,  without  an  instant's  hesitation,  without 
a  word,  a  glance  of  anger  or  disdain,  ever  holding  it  his 
highest  pleasure  to  open  the  treasures  of  his  learning  to  those 
wh)  came  to  him  for  the  solution  of  some,  by  all  others  insc 


IVeatisc   of  the  Nature  of  tne  Soul,  by  Claudienus,  published,  witU 
notes,  by  Andrew  SchofTand  Gaspard  Barth,  at  Zwickau,  in  JG65. 
*  Son  of  the  sister  of  Mamertius  Claudienus.  3  Lib   iv.,  op.  ii. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  138 

luble,  question  !     Then,  when  all  of  us  were  seated  around 
nim,  he  would  direct  all  to  be  silent,  but  him  to  whom — and 
it  was  ever  a  choice  which  we  ourselves  should  have  made- 
he  accorded   the    privilege   of  stating  the    proposition ;    the 
question  thus  laid  before  him,  he  would  display  the  wealth  of 
his   learning    deliberately,  point    by   point,  in   perfect  order, 
withoi:',  the  least  artifice  of  gesture,  or  the  slightest  flourish  of 
language.     When   he  had  concluded   his  address,  we  stated 
our  objections  syllogistically  ;    he   never   failed  to  refute  at 
once   any  propositions  of  ours  which  were  not   based    upxjn 
sound  reason,  and  thus  nothing  was  admitted  without  under- 
going  mature  examination,  without  being  thoroughly  demon- 
strated.    But  that  which  inspired  us  with  still  higher  respect, 
was  that  he  supported,  without  the  least  ill-humor,  the  dull 
obstinacy  of  some  amongst  us,  imputing  it  to  an  excusable 
motive,  we  all   the   while   admiring  his  patience,  though  un- 
able  to  imitate  it.     No  one  could  fear  to  seek  the  counsel,  in 
difficult    cases,  of  a    man    who  rejected  no  discussion,  and 
refused  to  answer  no  question,  even  on  the  part  of  the  most 
foolish  and  ignorant  persons.     Thus  much  for  his  learning  : 
enough  concerning  his  studies  and   his  science  ;   but  who  can 
worthily   and  suitably  praise  the  other  virtues  of  that  man, 
who,  always  remembering  the  weakness  of  humanity,  assisted 
the  priests  with  his  work,  the  people   with  his  discourses,  the 
afllicted    with   his   exhortations,   the   forsaken    with   his   con- 
solations,   prisoners   with    his   gold  ;    the   hungry    received 
food  from  him,  the  naked  were  clothed  by  him.     It  would,  I 
think,  bo   equally    superfluous   to   say    any  more  upon  thia 
subject.   .   .   . 

"  Here  is  what  we  wished  to  have  said  at  first :  in  honor  ot 
the  ungrateful  ashes,  as  Virgil  says,  that  is  to  say,  which 
cannot  give  us  thanks  for  what  we  say,  we  have  composed 
a  sad  and  piteous  lamentation,  not  without  much  trouble, 
"or  having  dictated  nothing  for  so  long,  we  found  unusual 
difficulty  therein  ;  nevertheless,  our  mind,  naturally  indolent, 
was  reanimated  by  a  sorrow  which  desired  to  break  into  tears. 
This,  then,  is  the  purport  of  the  verses: 

"  '  Under  this  turf  reposes  Claudienus,  the  pride  and  sorrow 
i>f  his  brother  Mamertius,  honored  like  a  precious  stone  by 
tU  the  bisliops.  In  this  master  flourished  a  triple  science, 
that  of  Rome,  that  of  Athens,  and  that  of  Christ :  and  in  the 
vigor  of  his  age,  a  simple  monk,  he  achieved  it  completely 
and  in  secret.     Orator,  dialectician,  ooet,  a  doctor  learned  ir 


134  HISTORY  OF 

the  sacred  books,  geometrician,  musician^  he  excelled  \i 
unravelling  the  most  difficult  questions,  he  struck  with  the 
sword  of  words  the  sects  which  attacked  the  Catholic  faith. 
Skilful  at  setting  the  psalms  and  singing,  in  front  of  the 
altars,  and  to  the  great  gratitude  of  his  brother,  he  taught 
men  to  sound  instruments  of  music.  He  regulated,  for 
the  solemn  feasts  of  the  year,  what  in  each  case  should  be 
read.  He  was  a  priest  of  the  second  order,  and  relieved  his 
brother  from  the  weight  of  the  episcopacy  ;  for  his  brother 
bore  the  ensigns,  and  he  all  the  duty.  You,  therefore, 
reader,  who  afllict  yourself  as  if  nothing  remained  of  such 
a  man,  whoever  you  be,  cease  to  sprinkle  your  cheeks  and  tliia 
marble  with  tears  ;  the  soul  and  the  glory  cannot  be  buried  in 
the  tomb.' 

"  These  are  the  lines  I  have  engraved  over  the  remains 
of  him  who  was  a  brother  to  all  .   .   .   ." 

It  was  to  Sidonius  that  Mamertius  Claudienus  had  dedi- 
Gated  his  work. 

It  is  divided  into  three  books.  The  first  is  the  only  truly 
philosophical  one  J  the  question  is  there  examined  in  itself, 
independently  of  every  special  fact,  of  all  authority,  and  under 
a  purely  rational  point  of  view.  In  the  second  the  author 
invokes  authorities  to  his  aid  ;  first  that  of  the  Greek  philoso- 
phers— then,  that  of  the  Roman  philosophers — lastly,  tlie  socred 
writings,  Saint  Paul,  the  Evangelists,  and  the  fathers  of  the 
church.  The  special  object  of  the  third  book  is  to  explain, 
in  the  system  of  the  spirituality  of  the  soul,  certain  events, 
certain  traditions  of  the  Christian  religion  ;  for  example,  the 
resurrection  of  Lazarus,  the  existence  of  the  angels,  the  appa- 
rition of  the  angel  Gabriel  to  the  Virgin  Mary;  and  to  show 
that,  so  far  from  contradicting  them,  or  being  embarra^rscd  by 
them,  this  system  admits  them  and  makes  at  least  as  much  of 
them  as  any  other. 

The  classification  is  not  as  rigorous  as  I  have  made  it  out : 
the  ideas  and  arguments  are  of\en  mixed  ;  philosophical  dis- 
cussions appear  here  and  there  in  the  books  which  are  not 
devoted  to  them  ;  still,  upon  the  whole,  the  work  is  not  warn- 
ing in  either  method  or  precision. 

1  shall  now  place  before  you  the  summary  of  it,  as  prepared 
by  Mamertius  Claudienus  himself,  in  ten  theses  or  fundamental 
propositions,  in  the  last  chapter  but  one  of  the  third  book.  1 
ahall  then  literally  translate  some  passages,  which  will  enable 
you   to   understand,  on  one  hand,  with  what  profundity  and 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  135 

with  what  force  of  mind  the  author  has  penetrated  into  the 
question;  on  the  other,  vvliat  absurd  and  fantastical  conceptions 
3ouId,  at  this  epocli,  be  combined  with  the  most  elevated  and 
the  most  just  ideas. 

"  Since  many  of  tiie  things  which  I  have  asserted  in  this 
discussion,"  says  Mamertius  Claudienus,  "are  scattered,  and 
might  not  easily  be  retained,  I  wish  to  bring  them  together, 
compress  them,  place  them,  so  to  speak,  in  a  single  point, 
under  the  mind's  eyes. 

"  1st.  God  is  incorporeal ;  the  human  soul  is  the  image  of 
God,  for  man  was  made  in  the  image  and  likeness  of  God. 
Now  a  body  cannot  be  the  image  of  an  incorporeal  being  ; 
therefore  the  human  soul,  which  is  the  image  of  God,  is  in- 
corporeal. 

"  2d.  Everything  which  does  not  occupy  a  determined 
place  is  incorporeal.  Now  the  soul  is  the  life  of  the  body  ; 
and,  living  in  the  body,  each  part' lives  as  truly  as  the  whole 
body.  There  is,  therefore,  in  each  part  of  the  body,  as  much 
life  as  in  the  whole  body  ;  and  the  soul  is  that  life.  Thus, 
that  which  is  as  great  in  the  part  as  in  the  whole,  in  a  small 
space  as  in  a  large,  occupies  no  space  ;  therefore  the  soul 
occupies  no  place.  That  which  occupies  no  place  is  not 
corporeal ;  tlierefore  the  soul  is  not  corporeal. 

"  3d.  The  soul  reasons,  and  the  faculty  of  reasoning  is  in- 
herent  in  the  substance  of  the  soul.  Now  the  reason  is  in- 
corporeal,  occupies  no  position  in  space  ;  therefore  the  soul  is 
incorporeal. 

"  4tli.  The  will  of  the  soul  is  its  very  substance,  and  when 
the  soul  chooses  it  is  all  will.  Now  will  is  not  a  body  ;  there- 
fore the  soul  is  not  a  body. 

"  5th.  Even  so  the  memory  is  a  capacity  which  has  nothing 
local ;  it  is  not  widened  in  order  to  remember  more  of  things ; 
it  is  not  contracted  when  it  remembers  less  of  things  ;  it  im- 
materially remembers  material  things.  And  when  the  soul 
remembers,  it  remembers  entire  ;  it  is  all  recollection.  Now, 
the  recollection  is  not  a  body ;  therefore  the  soul  is  not  a 
body, 

"  6th.  The  body  feels  the  impression  of  touch  in  the  pari 
ouched  ;  the  whole  soul  feels  the  impression,  not  by  the  entire 
body,  but  in  a  part  of  the  body.  A  sensation  of  this  kind 
has  nothing  local ;  now  what  has  nothing  local  is  incorporeal ; 
therefore  the  soul  is  incorporeal. 

"7th.  The  body  can  neither  approach   nor   absent   itsel/ 


136  HISTORY    OF 

from  God ;  the  soul  does  approach  and  does  absent  itself 
from  them  without  changing  its  place  ;  therefore  the  soul  ia 
not  a  body. 

"  6th.  The  body  moves  through  a  place,  from  one  place  to 
another ;  the  soul  has  no  similar  movement ;  therefore  the 
soul  is  not  a  body. 

*•  9th.  The  body  has  length,  breadth,  and  depth  ;  and  thai 
which  has  neither  length,  breadth,  nor  depth,  is  not  a  body. 
The  soul  has  notlwng  of  the  kind  j  therefore  the  soul  is  not 
a  body. 

"  10th.  There  is  in  all  bodies  the  right  hand  and  the  left — 
the  upper  part  and  the  lower  part,  the  front  and  tiie  back  ;  in 
the  soul  there  is  nothing  of  the  kmd ;  therefore  the  soul  is  in- 
corporeal.'" 

Here  are  some  of  the  principal  developments  in  support  of 
these  propositions  : 

•'  I.  You  say  that  the  soul  is  one  thing,  the  thought  of  the 
soul  another :  you  ought  rather  to  say,  that  the  tilings  upon 
which  the  soul  thinks  .  .  .  are  not  the  soul ;  but  thought  is 
nothing  but  the  soul  itself. 

"  The  soul,  you  say,  is  in  such  profound  repose,  that  it  has 
ao  thought  at  all.  This  is  not  true;  the  soul  can  change  its 
thought,  but  not  be  without  thought  altogether. 

*'  What  do  our  dreams  signify  if  not  that,  even  when  the 
body  is  fatigued  and  immersed  in  sleep,  the  soul  ceases  not  to 
think  ? 

"  What  greatly  deceives  you  concerning  the  nature  of  the 
soul,  is  that  j'ou  believe  that  the  soul  is  one  thing,  and  its 
faculties  another.  What  the  soul  thinks  is  an  accident,  but 
that  which  thinks  is  the  substance  of  the  soul  itself.^ 

"  II.  The  soul  sees  that  which  is  corporeal  through  tiie 
medium  of  the  body;  what  is  incorporeal  it  sees  by  itself. 
Without  the  intervention  of  the  body,  it  could  see  nothing 
corporeal,  colored,  or  extensive  ;  but  it  sees  truth,  and  sees 
it  with  an  immaterial  view.  If,  as  you  pretend,  the  soul, 
corporeal  itself,  and  confined  within  an  external  body,  can  see 
of  itself  a  corporeal  object,  surely  nothing  can  be  more  easy 
to  it  than  to  see  the  interior  of  that  body  in  which  it  is  con- 
fined. Well,  then,  to  this — apply  yourself  to  this  work; 
direct  inward  this  corporeal  view  of  the  soul,  as  you  call  it  J 


»  Book  ill.,  chap.  14,  pp.  201.  202. 
»Book  i.,  chap.  21,  p,  SJ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  131 

IpH  IIS  how  the  brain  is  disposed,  where  the  mass  of  tlie  liver 
is  situated  ;  where  and  what  is  the  spleen  .  .  .  what  are  the 
windings  and  texture  of  tiie  veins,  the  origin  of  the  nerves  ? 

.  .  liow  !  you  deny  that  you  are  called  upon  to  answer 
concerning  such  things  :  and  wherefore  do  you  denv  it  ?  Be- 
cause the  soul  cannot  see  directly  and  of  itself  corporeal  things. 
Why  can  it  not,  then,  that  which  is  never  without  thinking — 
that  is  to  say,  without  seeing  ?  Because  it  cannot  see  corpo- 
real  objects  without  the  medium  of  the  corporeal  view.  Now, 
the  soul  which  sees  certain  things  of  itself,  but  not  corporeal 
things,  sees,  therefore,  with  an  incorporeal  view  ;  now  an  in- 
corporeal being  can  alone  see  with  an  incorporeal  view;  there- 
fore the  soul  is  incorporeal.' 

"  III.  If  the  soul  is  a  body,  what  then  is  that  which  the  soul 
calls  its  body,  if  not  itself?  Either  the  soul  is  a  body,  and  in 
that  case  it  is  wrong  to  say  my  body,  it  ought  rather  to  say 
me,  since  it  is  itself;  or  if  the  soul  is  right  in  saying  my  body, 
as  we  suppose,  it  is  not  a  body.^ 

"  IV.  It  is  not  without  reason  that  it  is  said  that  memory  is 
common  to  men  and  to  animals ;  storks  and  swallows  return 
to  their  nest,  horses  to  tlieir  stable  ;  dogs  recognize  their  mas- 
ter.  But  as  tiie  soul  of  animals,  although  they  retain  the 
image  of  places,  has  no  knowledge  of  its  own  being,  they 
remain  confined  to  the  recollection  of  corporeal  objects  which 
they  have  seen  by  the  bodily  stmses ;  and,  deprived  of  the 
mind's  eye,  they  are  incapable  tf  seeing,  not  only  what  is 
above  them,  but  themselves.^ 

"  V.  A  formidable  syllogism,  which  is  thought  insolvable, 
is  addressed  to  us  ;  the  soul,  it  is  said,  is  where  it  is,  and  13 
not  where  it  is  not.  The  anticipation  is,  that  we  shall  be 
driven  to  say,  either  that  it  is  everywhere,  or  that  it  is  no- 
where :  and  then  it  will  be  rejoined,  if  it  is  everywhere,  it  is 
God  ;  if  it  is  nowhere,  it  is  non-existent.  The  soul  is  not 
wholly  in  the  whole  world,  but  in  the  same  way  that  God  is 
wholly  in  the  whole  universe,  so  the  soul  is  wholly  in  the 
whole  body.  God  docs  not  fill  with  the  smallest  part  of  him- 
self the  smallest  part  of  the  world,  and  with  the  largest  the 
largest ;  he  is  wholly  in  every  part  and  wholly  in  the  whole  ; 
BO  the  eoul  does  not  reside  in  parts  in  the  various  parts  of  the 


I  Dook  Hi.,  chap.  9,  pp.  187,  188.  2  Book  i.,  chap   16,  p   5?. 

•Book  i  ,  chap.  21,  p.  65 
20 


138  HISTORY    OF 

body.  It  is  not  one  part  of  tlie  soul  whicli  looks  forth  ihrougli 
the  eye  and  another  which  animates  the  finger ;  the  whola 
fBoul  lives  in  the  eye  and  sees  by  the  eye,  the  wliole  soul  ani- 
mates  the  finger  and  feels  by  the  finger.* 

"  VI.  The  soul  which  feels  in  the  body,  though  it  feels  by 
irisible  organs,  feels  invisibly.  The  eye  is  one  tinng,  seeing 
another :  the  ears  are  one  thing,  hearing  another ;  the  nostrils 
are  one  thing,  smelling  another  j  the  mouth  one  thing,  eating 
another ;  the  hand  one  thing,  touching  another.  We  dis- 
tinguish by  the  touch  what  is  hot  and  what  cold ;  but  we  do 
not  touch  the  sensation  of  the  touch,  which  in  itself  is  neither 
hot  nor  cold  ;  the  organ  by  which  we  feel  is  a  perfectly  dif- 
ferent thing  from  the  sensation  of  which  we  are  sensible. "^ 

You  will  readily  admit  that  these  ideas  are  deficient  neither 
in  elevation  nor  profundity  ;  they  would  do  honor  to  the  phi- 
losophers of  any  period  ;  seldom  have  the  nature  of  the  soul 
and  its  unity  been  investigated  more  closely  or  described  with 
greater  precision.  I  might  quote  many  other  passages  re- 
markable for  the  subtlety  o(  percej)tion,  or  energy  of  debate, 
and,  at  times,  for  a  profound  moral  emotion,  and  a  genuine 
eloquence. 

I  will  read  to  you  two  extracts  from  the  same  book  of  the 
same  man ;  Mamertius  Claudienus  is  replying  to  the  argu. 
ment  of  FaustuS;  who  maintains  that  the  soul  is  formed  of  air. 
reasoning  upon  the  ancient  theory  which  regarded  air,  fire, 
earth,  and  water,  as  the  four  essential  elements  of  nature : 
"  Fire,"  says  he,  "  is  evidently  a  superior  element  to  air,  as 
well  by  the  place  which  it  occupies  as  by  its  intrinsic  power. 
This  is  proved  by  the  movement  of  the  terrestrial  fire,  which, 
with  an  almost  incomprehensible  rapidity,  and  by  its  own 
natural  impulse,  reascends  towards  heaven  as  towards  its  own 
country.  If  this  proof  be  not  sufficient,  here  is  another:  the 
air  is  illumined  by  the  presence  of  the  sun,  that  is  to  say  fire, 
and  falls  into  darkness  in  its  absence.  And  a  still  more  pow- 
erful  reason  is,  that  air  undergoes  the  action  of  fire  and  be- 
conies  heated,  while  fire  does  not  undergo  the  action  of  air, 
and  is  never  made  cold  by  it.  Air  may  be  inclosed  and  re- 
tained in  vases;  fire  never.  The  preeminence  of  fire,  then, 
is  clearly  incontestable.  Now,  it  is  from  fire  (that  is  to  say, 
firom  its  light)  that  we  derive  the   faculty  of  sight,  a   faculty 


Book  iff  ,  chtp.  2,  p.  164.  •  Book  i.,  chap.  6,  p.  31 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  130 

common  to  men  and  to  animals,  and  in  wliich,  indeed,  certain 
irrational  animals  far  surpass  man  in  point  of  bolli  strength 
and  of  delicacy.  If,  then,  which  is  undeniable,  sight  proceeds 
from  fire,  and  if  the  soul,  as  you  think,  is  formed  of  air,  it 
follows  that  the  eye  of  animals  is,  as  to  its  substance,  superior 
in  dignity  to  the  soul  of  man.'" 

This  learned  confusion  of  material  facts  and  of  intellectual 
facts,  this  attempt  to  establish  a  sort  of  hierarchy  of  merit 
and  of  rank  among  the  elements,  in  order  to  deduce  from 
them  philosophical  consequences,  are  curious  evidences  of  the 
infancy  of  science  and  of  thought. 

I  will  now  quote,  in  favor  of  the  immateriality  of  the  soul, 
an  argument  of  as  little  value  in  itself,  but  less  fantastic  in 
its  outward  appearance.  "  Every  incorporeal  being  is  supe- 
rior, in  natural  dignity,  to  a  corporeal  being;  every  being 
not  confined  within  a  certain  space,  to  a  localized  being  ;  every 
indivisible  being  to  a  divisible  being.  Now,  if  the  Creator, 
sovereignly  powerful  and  sovereignly  good,  has  not  created, 
as  he  ought  to  have  done,  a  substance  superior  to  the  body, 
and  similar  to  hitnself,  it  is  either  that  he  could  not  or  would 
not ;  if  he  would,  and  could  not,  almightiness  was  wanting 
to  him;  if  he  could  and  would  not  (the  mere  thought  is  a 
crime),  it  could  only  have  been  through  jealousy.  Now,  it 
is  impossible  that  the  sovereign  power  cannot  do  what  it  wills, 
that  sovereign  goodness  can  be  jealous.  It  results  that  he 
botli  could  and  would  create  the  incorporeal  being;  final 
result,  he  did  create  it.'" 

Was  I  wrong  in  speaking  just  now  of  the  strange  combi- 
nations, the  mixture  of  high  truths  and  gross  errors,  of  admi- 
rable views  and  ridiculous  conceptions,  which  characterize 
the  writings  of  this  period.  Those  of  Mamertius  Claudienus, 
I  may  add,  present  fewer  of  these  contrasts  than  do  those  of 
most  of  his  contemporaries. 

You  are  sufficiently  acquainted  with  this  writer  to  appre- 
ciate his  character ;  taken  as  a  whole,  his  work  is  rather 
philosophical  than  theological,  and  yet  the  religious  principle 
is  manifestly  predominant  throughout,  for  the  idea  of  God  is 
the  starting  point  of  every  discussion  in  it.  The  author  does 
not  commence  by  observing  and  describing  human,  special, 
actual  facts,  proceeding  through  them  up  to  the  Divinity : 
Giod   is  with   him   the  primitive,  universal,  evident  fact ;  the 

•   Bock  i.,  chap.  9,  p.  38  '  Book  i.,  chap    5,  p.  23. 


140  HISTORY    OF 

fundamental  datum  to  which  all  things  relate,  and  with  wliich 
all  things  must  agree ;  he  invariably  descends  from  God  to 
man,  deducing  our  own  from  the  Divine  nature.  It  is  evi- 
dently from  religion,  and  not  from  science,  that  he  borrows 
this  method.  But  this  cardinal  point  once  established,  this 
logical  plan  once  laid  down,  it  is  from  philosophy  that  he 
draws,  in  general,  both  his  ideas  and  his  manner  of  expressing 
them ;  his  language  is  of  the  school,  not  of  the  church  j  lie 
appeals  to  reason,  not  to  faith  ;  we  perceive  in  him,  sometimes 
the  academician,  sometimes  tiie  stoic,  more  frequently  tiio 
platonist,  but  always  the  philosopher,  never  the  priest,  though 
the  Christian  is  apparent,  is  manifest  in  every  page. 

I  have  thus  exhibited  the  fact  which  I  indicated  in  the  out. 
set,  the  fusion  of  pagan  philosophy  with  Christian  theology, 
the  metamorphosis  of  the  one  into  the  other.  And  it  is  re- 
markable, that  the  reasoning  applied  to  the  establishment  of 
the  spiritualit)  of  the  soul  is  evidently  derived  from  the  an- 
cient philosophy  rather  than  from  Christianity,  and  that  the 
author  seems  more  especially  to  aim  at  convincing  the  titeo- 
logians,  by  proving  to  them  that  the  Cliristian  faith  has  no- 
*.hing  in  all  tiiis  which  is  not  perfectly  reconcilable  with  the 
results  derived  from  pure  reason. 

It  might  be  thought  that  this  transition  from  ancient  philo. 
sophy  to  modern  tiieology  would  be  Jiiore  manifest,  more 
strongly  marked  in  the  dialogue  of  tiie  Christian  Zacheus 
and  the  philosopher  Apollonius,  by  the  monk  Evagrius,  where 
the  two  doctrines,  the  two  societies,  are  directly  confronted 
and  called  upon  to  discuss  their  respective  merits;  but  the 
discussion  is  only  in  appearance,  exists,  in  fact,  only  on  the 
title-page.  I  am  not  acquainted  with  any  work,  witii  any 
monument,  which  proves  more  clearly  the  utter  indifference 
with  which  the  popular  mind  regarded  paganism.  The  phi- 
losopher  Apollonius  opens  the  dialogue  in  an  arrogant  tone, 
as  if  about  utterly  to  overwhelm  the  Christian,  and  to  deliver 
over  to  general  scorn  any  arguments  which  he  may  adduce.' 
♦'  If  you  examine  the  matter  with  care,"  says  he,  "  you  will 
Bee  that  all  other  religions  and  all  other  sacred  rites  had 
rational  origins;  whereas,  your  creed  is  so  utterly  vain  and 
irrational,  that  it  seems  *o  me  none  but  a  madman  could 
entertain  it." 


•  Dialogue   of  Zacheus   and    Apollonius,   in   the    Spicileijiuin  of 
D'Achery,  vol.  x.,  p.  3. 


CIVILIZATION    .N    FRANCE.  141 

But  this  an'ogance  is  sterile :  throughout  the  dialogue 
Apollonius  does  not  advance  one  single  argument,  one  solitary 
idea;  he  proves  nothing,  he  confutes  notliing ;  he  does  not 
open  his  lips  except  to  suggest  a  topic  to  Zacheus,  who,  on 
his  part,  takes  no  notice  whatever  of  paganism  nor  of  the 
philosophy  of  his  adversary,  does  not  refute  them,  scarcely 
makes  here  and  tliere  an  allusion  to  them,  and  only  occupie? 
himself  relating  history  and  descrihing  the  Christian  faith  sc 
as  to  show  forth  its  entirety  and  authority.  Doubtless,  thf 
book  is  the  work  of  a  Christian,  and  the  silence  which  he 
makes  his  philosophers  preserve  does  not  prove  that  philoso- 
phers were  really  silent.  But  such  is  by  no  means  the  cha- 
racter of  the  first  debates  of  Christianity  with  the  ancient 
philosophy,  when  the  latter  was  still  living  and  powerful. 
Christianity  at  that  time  condescended  to  notice  the  arguments 
of  its  adversaries;  it  spoke  of  them,  it  refuted  them;  the 
controversy  was  a  real  and  an  animated  one.  In  the  work 
before  us  there  is  no  longer  any  controversy  at  all ;  the 
Christian  indoctrinates  and  catechises  the  philosopher,  and 
seems  to  consider  that  this  is  all  that  can  be  required  of  hiin. 
Nay,  he  even  makes  this  a  matter  of  concession,  a  favor; 
discussions  with  pagans  had  by  this  time  become  a  sort  of 
superfluity  in  the  eyes  of  Christians. 

"  Many  persons,"  says  Evagrius,  in  the  preface  to  his 
book,  "think  that  we  should  despise,  rather  than  refute,  the 
objections  advanced  by  the  Gentiles,  so  vain  are  they,  so 
devoid  of  true  wisdom  ;  but,  in  my  opinion,  such  scorn  were 
worse  than  useless.  I  see  two  advantages  in  instructing  the 
Getiiiles ;  in  the  first  place,  we  prove  to  all  how  holy  and 
simple  our  religion  is  ;  and  secondly,  the  heathen  thus  in- 
structed come  at  last  to  believe  that  which,  unknowing,  they 
had  despised.  .  .  .  Besides,  by  approaching  the  candle  to  the 
eyes  of  the  blind,  if  they  do  not  see  its  light,  they  at  all 
events  feel  its  warmth."  This  last  phrase  appears  to  me  a 
fine  one,  full  of  a  sympathetic  sentiment. 

There  is  one  thing  only  which  appears  to  me  remarkable 
in  this  dialogue ;  it  is  that  here  the  question  is  broadly  laid 
down  between  rationalism  and  the  Christian  revelation  ;  not 
tliat  this  subject  is  more  really  or  more  extensively  developed 
than  any  other :  it  is  only  in  a  few  sentences  that  the  idea 
manifests  itself,  but  from  these  it  is  evident  that  the  question 
was  full  in  the  minds  of  all  controversialists,  and  formed,  as 
it  were,  the   last  intrenchment  behind  which  philosophy  de- 


M2  HISTORY    OF 

fended  itseif.  Apollonius,  as  you  have  seen,  makes  it  an 
especial  charge  against  the  Ciiristian  doctrine  that  it  ia  irra 
tional  ;  to  this  Zacheus  replies:  "It  is  easy  for  every  one  to 
understand  and  appreciate  God,  that  is  to  say,  if  the  Divine 
Word  is  compatible  with  your  notion  of  wisdom  .  ,  .  for  your 
view  is,  that  the  sage  believes  nothing  out  of  himself,  that  ho 
is  never  deceived,  but  that  he  of  himself  knows  all  things 
infallibly,  not  admitting  that  there  is  anything  whatevei 
either  hidden  or  unknown,  or  that  anything  is  more  possible 
to  the  Creator  than  to  the  creature.  And  it  is  more  especially 
against  the  Christians  that  you  make  use  of  this  mode  of 
reasoning."'  And  elsewhere :  "The  understanding  follows 
faith,  and  the  human  mind  knows  only  through  faith  the 
higher  things  which  come  near  God.'" 

It  were  a  curious  study  to  consider  the  state  of  rationalism 
at  this  period,  the  cause?  of  its  ruin,  and  its  efforts,  its  various 
transformations  in  order  to  avert  that  ruin  :  but  it  is  an  inquiry 
which  would  carry  us  too  lar,  and,  besides,  it  was  not  in  Gaul 
that  the  grand  struggle  between  rationalism  and  Christianity 
took  place. 

The  second  dialogue  of  Evagrius,  between  the  Christian 
Theophilus  and  the  Jew  Simon,  is  of  no  sort  of  importance; 
it  is  a  mere  commentary,  a  mere  trifling  controversy  on  a  few 
scriptural  texts. 

I  might  mention  to  you,  and  make  extracts  from,  a  great 
number  of  other  works  of  the  same  period  and  the  same  class. 
This,  however,  were  unnecessary,  as  I  have  selected  from 
among  them  the  two  most  remarkable,  the  most  characteristic, 
the  most  calculated  to  convey  an  accurate  idea  of  the  state  of 
mind,  and  of  its  activity  at  this  period.  That  activity  was 
great,  though  exclusively  confined  within  the  limits  of  the 
religious  society ;  whatever  vigor  and  life  had  remained  to 
the  ancient  philosophy,  passed  over  to  the  service  of  the  Chris- 
tians ;  it  was  under  the  religious  form,  and  in  the  very  Dosom 
of  Christianity,  that  were  reproduced  the  ideas,  the  schools, 
the  whole  science  of  the  philosophers;  but  subject  to  this  con- 
dition, they  still  occupied  men's  minds,  and  played  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  moral  state  of  the  new  society. 

It  was  this  movement  which  was  arrested  by  the  invasion 
of  the  barbarians  and  ihe  fall  of  the  Roman  empire  :  a  hundred 


»  Page  3  *  Page  9. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FUANCR  14S 

yeais  later  we  do  not  find  the  slightest  trace  of  what  I  have 
Dcnn  describing  to  you  ;  the  discussions,  the  travels,  the  cor- 
respondence, the  pamphlets,  the  wjiole  intellectual  activity  of 
Gaul  in  the  seventh  century,  all  these  had  disappeared. 

Was  this  loss  of  any  consequence  ?  \(*as  the  movement  thus 
put  a  stop  to  by  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians  an  important 
and  fruitful  movement?  I  doubt  it  very  much.  You  will 
perhaps  remember  my  observations  on  the  essentially  practical 
character  of  Christianity;  intellectual  progress,  science,  espe- 
cially so  called,  was  not  at  all  its  aim  ;  and  although  it  had  a 
connexion  upon  several  points  with  the  ancient  philosophy— 
though  it  had  been  very  willing  to  appropriate  the  ideas  of  tha. 
philosophy,  and  to  make  the  most  of  it,  it  was  by  no  means 
anxious  for  its  preservation,  nor  to  replace  it  by  any  othe\ 
philosophy.  To  change  the  manners,  to  govern  the  life  0/ 
men,  was  the  predominant  idea  of  its  leaders. 

Moreover,  notwithstanding  the  freedom  of  minJ  which  prac 
tically  existed  in  the  fifth  century,  in  the  religious  society 
the  principle  of  liberty  made  no  progress  there.  It  was,  or. 
the  contrary,  the  principle  of  authority,  of  the  ofllcial  domina- 
tion over  intellect  by  general  and  fixed  rules,  which  sought 
the  ascendency.  Though  still  powerful,  intellectual  liberty 
was  on  the  decline;  authority  was  rapidly  taki:ig  .ts  place; 
every  page  of  the  writings  of  this  period  proves  the  fact.  It 
was,  indeed,  the  almost  inevitable  result  of  the  very  nature 
of  tiie  Christian  reformation  ;  moral,  ratncr  than  scientific,  it 
proposed  to  itself  as  its  leading  aim  to  catfcolish  a  law,  to  go- 
vern men's  will  ;  it  was  consequently  atidiority  that  was  above 
all  things  needful  to  it;  authority  in  ihe  existing  stateof  man- 
ners was  its  surest,  it  smost  efficacious  means  of  action. 

Now,  what  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians,  and  the  fall  of 
the  Roman  empire  more  especially  arrested,  even  destroyed, 
was  intellectual  movement ;  what  remained  of  science,  of 
philosophy,  of  the  liberty  of  mind  in  the  fifth  century,  dis- 
appeared under  their  blows.  But  the  moral  movement,  the 
practical  reformation  of  Christianity,  and  the  official  establish- 
ment of  its  authority  over  n&lions,  were  not  in  any  way  af- 
fected ;  perhaps  even  they  gained  histead  of  losing :  this  a', 
least,  I  think,  is  what  the  history  of  our  civilization,  in  propor- 
Uon  as  we  advance  in  its  eouise,  will  allow  us  to  conjecture. 

The  invasion  of  the  barbarians,  therefore,  did  not  in  any 
way  kill  what  possessed  life ;  at  bottom,  intellectual  activity 
and  liberty  were  in  decay ;  everything  leads  us  to  believe 


144  HISTORY    OF 

that  they  would  have  stopped  of  themselves  j  the  barhariana 
Btoppcd  them  more  rudely  and  sooner.  Tliat,  I  believe,  is  al 
that  can  be  imputed  to  them. 

We  have  now  arrived  at  the  limits  to  which. we  should  con- 
fine ourselves,  to  the'end  of  the  picture  of  the  Roman  society 
in  Gaul  at  tlie  time  when  it  fell :  we  are  acquainted  with  it, 
if  not  completely,  at  least  in  its  essential  features.  In  order 
lo  prepare  ourselves  to  understand  the  society  which  followed 
it,  we  have  now  to  study  the  new  element  which  mixed  with 
It,  the  barbarians.  Their  state  before  the  invasion,  before 
they  came  to  overthrow  the  Roman  society,  and  were  changed 
under  its  influence,  will  form  the  subject  of  our  next  lecture. 


CIVILIZATION    m    FPANCE.  I4fi 


SEVENTH  LECTURE. 

O))joct  of  the  lecture — Of  the  Germanic  element  in  modern  ci\i'izu- 
tion — Of  the  monuments  of  the  ancient  social  state  of  the  Uoj- 
mans:  1.  Of  the  Roman  and  Greek  historians;  2.  Of  the  barbaiic 
laws ;  3.  Of  national  traditions — They  relate  to  very  different  epochs 
— They  are  often  made  use  of  promiscuously — Error  wliich  re;--ult8 
therefrom — The  work  of  Tacitus  concerning  the  manners  of  the 
Germans — Opinions  of  the  modern  German  writers  concerning  the 
ancient  Germanic  state — What  kind  of  life  prevailed  there  ?  wis  it 
the  wandering  life,  or  the  sedentary  life? — Of  the  institutions-  Of 
the  moral  state — Comparison  between  the  state  of  the  German  tribes 
and  tliat  of  other  hordes — Fallacy  of  most  of  the  views  of  barbarous 
life — Principal  characteristics  of  the  true  influence  of  the  Germans 
jpon  modern  civilization. 

We  approach  successively  the  various  sources  of  our  civili- 
zation. We  have  already  studied,  on  one  side,  what  we  call 
tlie  Roman  element,  the  civil  Roman  society  ;  on  the  other, 
the  Christian  element,  the  religious  society.  Let  us  now  con- 
sider the  barbaric  element,  the  German  society. 

Opinions  are  very  various  concerning  the  importance  of  this 
element,  concerning  the  part  and  share  of  the  Germans  in 
modern  civilization  ;  tlio  prejudices  of  nation,  of  situation,  of 
class,  have  modified  the  idea  which  each  has  formed  of  it. 

I'he  German  historians,  the  feudal  publicists,  IVI.  de  Bou- 
lainvilliers,  for  example,  have  in  general  attributed  too  exten- 
sive an  influence  to  the  barbarians;  tlie  burgher  publicists,  as 
the  abb^  Dubos,  have,  on  the  contrary,  too  much  reduced  it, 
in  order  to  give  far  too  large  a  part  to  Roman  society;  accord- 
in?  to  the  ecclesiastics,  it  is  to  the  church  that  modern  civili- 
zation is  the  most  indebted.  Sometimes  political  doctrines 
have  alone  determined  the  opinion  of  the  writer;  the  abbe  do 
Mnbly,  all  devoted  as  he  was  to  the  popular  cause,  and  despite 
his  antipathy  for  the  feudal  system,  insists  strongly  upon  the 
German  origins,  because  he  thought  to  find  there  more  insti- 
tutions  and  principles  of  lifierty  than  anywhere  else.  I  do 
not  wish  to  treat  at  present  of  this  question  ;  we  shall  treat  of 
it,  it  will  be  resolved  as  we  advance  in  the  history  of  French 
pivili/.ation      We  shall  see  from  epoch  to  epoch  what  part 


140  HISTORY    OF 

each  of  its  primitive  elements  has  there  played,  what  eacli  hus 
brought  and  received  in  their  combination.  I  shall  confine 
myself  to  asserting  beforehand  the  two  results  to  which  I  be. 
lieve  this  study  will  conduct  us : — First,  that  the  state  of  the 
barbaric  element  in  modern  civilization  has,  in  general,  been 
made  a  great  deal  too  much  of.  Second,  its  true  share  has 
not  been  given  it :  too  great  an  influence  upon  our  society  has 
been  attributed  to  tlie  Germans,  to  their  institutions,  to  their 
manners  ;  what  they  have  truly  exercised  has  not  been  attri. 
outed  to  tliem ;  we  do  not  owe  to  them  all  that  lias  been  done 
\li  their  name ;  we  do  owe  to  them  what  seems  not  to  proceed 
from  tiiem. 

Until  this  twofold  result  shall  arise  under  our  eyes,  from 
the  progressive  development  of  facts,  the  first  condition,  in 
order  to  appreciate  with  accuracy  the  share  of  the  Germanic 
element  in  our  civilization,  is  to  correctly  understand  what 
the  Germans  really  were  at  the  time  when  it  commenced, 
when  they  themselves  concurred  in  its  formation ;  that  is  to 
my,  before  their  invasion  and  tlieir  estai)lisliment  on  the  Ro- 
Qian  territory;  when  they  still  inhabited  Germany  in  the  tliird 
and  fourth  centuries.  By  this  alone  shall  we  be  enabled  to 
form  an  exact  idea  of  what  they  brought  to  the  common  work, 
to  distinguisli  wiiat  facts  are  truly  of  German  origin. 

This  study  is  diflicult.  The  monuments  where  we  may 
study  the  barbarians  before  the  invasion  are  of  three  kinds ; 
first,  the  Greek  or  Roman  writers,  who  knew  and  described 
them  from  their  first  appearance  in  history  up  to  this  epoch  ; 
that  is  to  say,  from  Polybius,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  before  Christ,  down  to  Ammianus  Marcellinus,  whose 
work  stops  at  the  year  of  our  Lord  378.  Between  these  two 
eras  a  crowd  of  historians,  Livy,  Ciesar,  Strabo,  Pomi.oniur. 
Mela,  Pliiiy,  Tacitus,  Ptolemy,  Plutarch,  Florus,  Pausanias, 
die,  have  left  us  ipformation,  more  or  less  detailed,  concern- 
ing the  German  nations;  secondly,  writings  and  documents 
posterior  to  the  German  invasion,  but  wliich  relate  or  reveal 
anterior  facts;  for  example,  niany  ciu"onicles,  the  barbaric 
laws,  Salic,  Visigoth,  Burgundian,  &c.;  thirdly,  the  recollec- 
tion and  national  traditions  of  the  Germans  themselves  con- 
ceri.ing  their  fate  and  their  state  in  the  ages  anterior  to  the 
invasion,  reascending  up  to  the  first  origin  and  their  most  an. 
cient  history. 

At  the  mere  mention  of  these  documents,  it  is  evident  thai 
very  various  times  and  s'ates  are  comprehended  in  tliein.    Tin 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  147 

Eloman  and  Greek  writers,  for  example,  embrace  a  space  of 
five  hundred  years,  during  which  Germany  and  her  nations 
were  presented  to  them  in  the  most  different  points  of  view 
Then  came  the  first  expeditions  of  the  wandering  Germans, 
rspecially  that  of  tlie  Teutones  and  the  Cimbrians.  Rather 
later,  dating  from  Ca;sar  and  Augustus,  the  Romans,  in  tlieir 
turn,  penetrated  into  Germany  ;  their  armies  passed  the 
Rhine  and  the  Danube,  and  saw  the  Germans  under  a  new 
aspect  and  in  a  new  state.  Lastly,  from  the  third  centur}', 
liie  Germans  fell  upon  the  Roman  empire,  \\  Inch  repelling  and 
odmitting  them  alternately,  came  to  know  them  far  more  inti- 
mately, and  in  an  entirely  different  situation  from  what  they 
had  done  hitherto.  Wiio  does  not  perceive  that,  during  this 
interval,  through  so  many  centuries  and  events,  the  barba- 
rians and  the  writers  who  described  them,  the  object  and  the 
picture,  must  have  prodigiously  varied  ? 

The  documents  of  the  second  class  are  in  the  same  case  : 
the  barbaric  laws  were  drawn  up  some  time  afler  the  invasion  ; 
the  most  ancient  portion  of  the  law  of  the  Visigoths  belonged 
to  the  last  half  of  the  fifth  century  ;  the  Salic  law  may  have 
been  written  first  under  Clovis,  but  the  digest  which  we  have 
of  it  is  of  a  far  posterior  epoch  ;  the  law  of  the  Burgundians 
dates  from  the  year  517. 

They  are  all,  therefore,  in  their  actual  form,  much  more 
modern  than  the  barbaric  society  which  we  wish  to  study. 
Tiierc  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  they  contain  many  facts,  that 
they  ofi.cn  describe  a  social  state  anterior  to  the  invasion; 
there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  Germans,  transported  into 
Gaul,  retained  much  of  their  ancient  customs,  their  ancient 
relations.  But  there  can  also  be  no  doubt  here  that,  after  the 
invasion,  Germanic  society  was  profoundly  modified,  and 
that  these  modifications  had  passed  into  laws  ;  the  law  of  the 
Visigoths  and  that  of  the  Burgundians  are  much  more  Roman 
than  barbarian  ;  three  fourths  of  the  provisions  concern  facts 
which  could  not  have  arisen  until  after  these  nations  were  esta- 
blished upon  Roman  soil.  The  Salic  law  is  more  primitive, 
more  barbaric ;  but  still,  I  believe  it  may  be  proved  that,  in 
many  parts — among  others,  in  that  concerning  property — it 
is  of  more  recent  origin.  Like  the  Roman  liistorians,  the 
German  laws  evidence  very  various  times  and  states  of 
society. 

According  to  the  documents  of  the  third  class,  the  national 
traditions  of  the  Germans,  the  evidence  is  still  more  striking; 

80 


148  HISTORY  OF 

ihe  subjects  of  these  traditions  are  almost  all  facts,  so  far  ant© 
riur  as  probably  to  have  become  almost  foreign  to  the  stated 
these  nations  at  the  third  and  fourth  centuries ;  facts  which 
had  concurred  to  produce  this  state  and  which  may  serve  to 
explain  it,  but  which  no  longer  constituted  it.  Suppose,  thtl, 
in  order  to  study  the  state  of  the  highlanders  of  Scotland 
fifty  years  ago,  one  had  collected  their  still  living  and  popular 
traditions,  and  had  taken  the  facts  which  they  express  as 
the  real  elements  of  Scotch  society  in  the  eighteenth  century  : 
assuredly  the  illusion  would  be  great  and  fruitful  of  error.  It 
would  be  the  same  and  with  much  greater  reason,  with  regard 
to  the  ancient  German  traditions ;  they  coincide  with  the 
primitive  history  of  tiie  Germans,  with  their  origin,  their 
religious  filiation,  their  relations  witli  a  multitude  of  nations 
in  Asia,  on  the  borders  of  tlie  Black  sea,  of  the  Baltic  sea ; 
with  events,  in  a  word,  which,  doubtless,  had  powerfully 
tended  to  bring  about  the  social  state  of  the  German  tribes 
in  the  third  century,  and  which  we  must  closely  observe,  but 
which  were  then  no  longer  facts  but  only  causes. 

You  see  that  all  the  monuments  that  remain  to  us  of 
the  state  of  the  barbarians  before  the  invasion,  whatever 
may  be  their  origin  and  their  nature,  Roman  or  German, 
traditions,  chronicles,  or  laws,  refer  to  times  and  facts  very 
far  removed  from  one  another,  and  among  which  it  is  very 
difficult  to  separate  what  truly  belongs  to  the  tiiird  and 
fourth  centuries.  The  fundamental  error,  in  my  opinion,  of 
a  great  number  of  Gerrnan  writers,  and  sometimes  of  the 
most  distinguished,  is  not  having  sufficiently  attended  to  this 
circumstance  :  in  order  to  picture  German  society  and  man- 
ners at  this  epoch,  they  have  drawn  their  materials  pell-mell 
from  the  three  sources  of  documents  I  have  indicated,  from 
the  Roman  writers,  from  the  barbaric  laws,  from  the  nationa' 
traditions,  without- troubling  themselves  with  the  difierence 
of  times  and  situations,  without  observing  any  moral 
chronology.  Hence  arises  the  incolicrencc  of  some  of  these 
pictures,  a  singular  mixture  of  mythology,  of  barbarism, 
and  of  rising  civilization,  of  fabulous,  heroic,  and  semi- 
political  ages,  without  exactitude  and  without  order  in  the 
oyes  of  the  more  severe  critic,  without  truth  for  the  imagi- 
ration. 

1  shall  endeavor  to  avoid  this  error ;  it  is  wiih  the  state 
ol  tlio  Germans,  a  little  before  the  invasion,  that  I  desire  ta 
^(»oupy  you  ;  that  is  what  it  imports  us  to  know,  for  it  v\  as  thai 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  L40 

which  was  real  and  powerful  at  tlie  time  ( f  the  ainalgama- 
lion  of  the  nations,  that  which  exercised  a  true  influence 
upon  modern  civilization.  I  shall  in  no  way  enter  into 
the  examination  of  the  German  origins  and  antiquities;  I 
shall  in  no  way  seek  to  discover  what  were  the  relations 
between  the  Germans  and  the  nations  and  religions  o' 
Asia  ;  whether  their  barbarism  was  the  wreck  of  an  ancient 
civilization,  nor  what  might  be,  under  barbaric  forms,  the 
concealed  features  of  this  original  society.  The  question 
IS  an  important  one  ;  but  it  is  not  ours,  and  I  shall  not  stop 
at  it.  1  would  wish,  too,  never  to  transfer  into  the  state  of 
the  Germans,  beyond  the  Rhine  and  the  Danube,  facts  which 
belong  to  the  Germans  established  upon  Gaulish  soil.  The 
difllculty  is  extreme.  Before  having  passed  the  Danube  or 
the  Rhine,  the  barbarians  were  in  relation  with  Rome;  their 
condition,  their  manners,  their  ideas,  their  laws,  had  perhaps 
already  submitted  to  its  influence.  How  separate,  amidst 
notices  so  incomplete,  so  confused,  these  first  results  of  foreign 
importation  ?  How  decide  with  precision  what  was  truly 
Germanic,  and  what  already  bore  a  Roman  stamp  ?  I  shall 
attempt  this  task  ;  the  truth  of  history  absolutely  requires  it. 
The  most  important  document  we  possess  concerning  the 
state  of  the  Germans,  between  the  time  when  they  began  to 
be  known  in  the  Roman  world,  and  that  in  which  they  con- 
quered it,  is  incontestably  the  work  of  Tacitus.  Two  things 
must  be  here  carefully  distinguished  :  on  one  side,  the  facts 
which  Tacitus  has  collected  and  described  ;  on  the  other,  the 
reflections  which  he  mixes  with  them,  the  color  under  which 
he  presents  them,  the  judgment  which  he  gives  of  them. 
The  facts  are  correct :  there  are  many  reasons  for  believing 
that  the  father  of  Tacitus,  and  perhaps  himself,  had  been  pro- 
curator of  Belgium  ;  he  could  thus  collect  detailed  informa- 
tion concerning  Germany  ;  he  occupied  hiinself  carefully  in 
doing  so  ;  posterior  documents  almost  all  prove  the  material 
accuracy  of  his  descriptions.  With  regnrd  to  their  moral  hue, 
Tacitus  has  painted  the  Germans,  as  Montaigne  and  Rousseau 
the  savages,  in  a  fit  of  ill  humor  against  his  country  ;  his  booK 
is  a  satire  on  Roman  manners,  the  eloquent  sally  of  a  philo- 
eophical  patriot,  who  is  determined  to  see  virtue,  wherever  he 
does  not  happen  to  find  the  disgraceful  effeminacy  and  the 
learned  depravation  of  an  old  society.  Do  not  suppose,  how. 
ever,  that  everything  is  false,  morally  speaking,  in  this  work 
of  anger — the   imagination  of  Tacitus   is  essentially  vigoroUB 


ICO  HISTORY    OF 

and  true  ;  when  he  wishes  simply  to  describe  German  man 
ners,  without  allusion  to  the  Roman  world,  without  compari. 
8on,  without  deducing  any  general  consequence  therefrom,  Ije 
is  admirable,  and  one  may  give  entire  faith,  not  only  to  the 
design,  but  to  the  coloring  of  the  picture.  Never  has  the 
barbaric  life  been  painted  with  more  vigor,  more  poetical 
truth.  It  is  only  when  thoughts  of  Rome  occur  to  Tacitus, 
when  he  speaks  of  the  barbarians  with  a  view  to  shame  hia 
fellow-citizens;  it  is  then  only  that  his  imagination  loses  its 
independence,  its  natural  sincerity,  and  that  a  false  color  i.s 
spread  over  his  pictures. 

Doubtless,  a  great  change  was  brought  about  in  the  state 
of  the  Germans,  between  the  end  of  the  first  century,  the 
epoch  in  which  Tacitus  wrote,  and  the  times  bordering  on  the 
invasion ;  the  frequent  communications  with  Rome  could  not 
fail  of  exercising  a  great  influence  upon  them,  attention  to 
which  circumstance  has  too  often  been  neglected.  Still  the 
groundwork  of  the  book  of  Tacitus  was  true  at  the  end  uf  the 
fourth  as  in  the  first  century.  Nothing  can  be  a  more  decisive 
proof  of  it  than  the  accounts  of  Ammianus  Marcellinus,  a  mere 
soldier,  without  imagination,  without  instruction,  who  made 
war  against  the  Germans,  and  whose  brief  and  simple  descrip- 
tions coincide  almost  everywhere  with  the  lively  and  learned 
colors  of  Tacitus.  We  may,  therefore,  for  tlie  epoch  which 
occupies  us,  give  almost  entire  confidence  to  the  picture  of  the 
manners  of  the  Germans. 

If  we  compare  this  picture  with  the  description  of  the 
ancient  social  state  of  the  Germans,  lately  given  by  able 
Germin  writers,  we  shall  be  surprised  by  the  resemblance. 
Assuredly  the  sentiment  which  animates  tlicm  is  difierent;  it 
is  wiL.i  indignation  and  sorrow  that  Tacitus,  at  corrupted 
Rome,  describes  the  simple  and  vigorous  manners  of  the 
barbarians;  it  is  with  pride  and  complaisance  that  the  modern 
Germans  contemplate  it;  but  from  these  diverse  causes  rises 
a  single  and  identical  fact ;  like  Tacitus,  nay,  far  more  than 
Tacitus,  the  greater  'jart  of  the  Germans  paint  ancient  Ger- 
many,  her  institutions,  her  manners,  in  the  most  vivid  colors  ; 
if  they  do  not  go  so  far  as  to  represent  them  as  tiie  ideal  of 
society,  they  at  least  defend  them  from  all  imputation  of  bar- 
barism. According  to  them  :  1st.  the  agricultural  or  seden- 
.ary  life  prevailed  there,  even  before  the  invasion,  over  the 
MTaaderhig  life  ;  the  institutions  and  ideas  which  create  landed 
proi»erty  were  already  very  far  advanced;  2d.   the   guaran  ■ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  151 

tees  of  individual  liberty,  and  even  security,  were  efficacious; 
3d.  manners  were  indeed  violent  and  coarse,  but  at  bottonf 
'he  natural  morality  of  man  was  developed  with  simplicity 
and  grandeur  ;  family  affections  were  strong,  characters  lofty, 
f-motions  profound,  religious  doctrines  high  and  powerful  ; 
there  was  more  energy  and  moral  purity  than  is  found  under 
It, ore  elegant  forms,  in  the  heart  of  a  far  more  extended  in- 
tellectual development. 

When  this  cause  is  maintained  by  ordinary  minds,  il 
abounds  in  strange  assumptions  and  ridiculous  assertions. 
Ileinrich,  the  author  of  an  esteemed  History  of  Germany, 
will  not  have  it  that  the  ancient  Germans  were  addicted 
to  intoxication  ;'  Meiners,  in  his  History  of  the  Female  Sex, 
maintains  that  women  have  never  been  so  happy  nor  so 
virtuous  as  in  Germany,  and  that  before  the  arrival  of  the 
Franks,  the  Gauls  knew  not  how  either  to  respect  or  to  love 
them. 2 

I  shall  not  dwell  upon  these  puerilities  of  learned  patriot- 
ism ;  I  should  not  even  have  touched  upon  them,  if  they 
were  not  the  consequence,  and  as  it  were,  the  excrescence  of 
a  system,  maintained  by  very  distinguished  men,  and  which, 
in  my  opinion,  destroys  the  historical  and  poetical  idea  which 
is  formed  of  the  ancient  Germans.  Considering  things  at 
large,  and  according  to  mere  appearances,  the  error  seems  to 
me  evident. 

How  can  it  be  maintained,  for  example,  that  German 
fiocicty  was  well  nigh  fixed,  and  that  the  agricultural  life 
dominated  there,  in  the  presence  of  the  very  fact  of  migra- 
tions, of  invasions,  of  that  incessant  movement  which  drew 
the  Germanic  nations  beyond  their  territory  ?  How  can  we 
give  credit  to  the  empire  of  manorial  property,  and  of  the 
ideas  and  institutions  which  are  connected  with  it,  o\er  men 
who  continually  abandoned  the  soil  in  order  to  seek  fortune 
elsewhere  ?  And  mark,  that  it  was  not  only  on  the  frontiers 
that  this  movement  was  accomplished  ;  the  same  fluctuation 
reigned  in  the  interior  of  Germany  ;  tribes  incessantly  ex- 
pelled, displaced,  succeeded  one  another:  some  paragraphs 
''mm  Tacitus  will  abundantly  prove  this: 

"  The  Batavians,"  says  he,  "  were  formerly  a  tribe  of  the 


'  lieichf^eschirhte,  vol    i.,  p.  fiO 

•  Gcschiclitc  dcs  IVciblic/icn  (Jcschlccts,  vol   i.,  p.  198 


152  HISTORV    OF 

Catti  ;  intestine  divisions  forced  them  to  retire  mlo  the 
islands  of  the  Rhine,  where  they  formed  an  alliance  with  tha 
Romans."  (Tacitus,  de  Morib.  Germanorum,  xxix.) 

"  In  the  neighborhood  of  the  Tencteres  were  formerly  the 
Bructeres  ;  it  is  said,  however,  that  now  the  Chamaves  and 
the  Angrivarians  possess  the  district,  having,  in  concert  with 
the  adjoining  tribes,  expelled  and  entirely  extirpated  the  an- 
cient inhabitants."  (<7>.  xxxii.) 

"  The  Marcomannians  are  the  most  eminent  for  theii 
strength  and  military  glory  ;  the  very  territory  they  occupy 
is  the  reward  of  their  valor,  they  having  dispossessed  its  former 
owners,  the  Boians."  (^ib.  xlii.) 

"  Even  in  time  of  peace  the  Cattians  retain  the  same 
ferocious  aspect,  never  softened  with  an  air  of  humanity. 
They  have  no  house  to  dwell  in,  no  land  to  cultivate,  no 
domestic  cares  to  employ  them.  Wherever  they  chance  to  be, 
they  live  upon  the  produce  they  find,  and  are  lavish  of  their 
neighbors'  substance,  till  old  age  incapacitates  them  for  these 
continuous  struggles."  {ib.  xxxi.) 

"  The  tribes  deem  it  an  honorable  distinction  to  have  their 
frontiers  devastated,  to  be  surrounded  with  immense  deserts. 
They  regard  it  as  the  highest  proof  of  valor  for  their  neighbora 
to  abandon  their  territories  out  of  fear  of  them  ;  moreover, 
they  have  thus  an  additional  security  against  sudden  attacks." 
(Caesar,  de  Bell.  Gall.,  vi.  23.) 

Doubtless,  since  the  time  of  Tacitus,  the  German  tribes 
more  or  less,  had  made  some  progress;  still,  assuredly,  the 
fluctuation,  the  continual  displacement  liad  not  ceased,  since 
the  invasion  became  daily  more  general  and  more  pressing. 

Hence,  if  I  mistake  not,  partly  proceeds  the  difference 
which  exists  between  the  point  of  view  of  the  Germans  and 
our  own.  There  was,  in  fact,  at  the  fourth  t;entury,  among 
many  German  tribes  or  confederations,  among  others  with 
the  Franks  and  Saxons,  a  commencement  of  the  sedentary, 
agricultural  life  ;  the  whole  nation  was  not  atldicted  to  tiie 
wandering  life.  Its  composition  was  not  simple  ;  it  was  not 
an  unique  race,  a  single  social  condition.  We  may  there 
recognize  three  classes  of  men  :  1st.  freemen,  men  of  honor 
or  nobles,  proprietors  ;  2d.  the  lidi,  liti,  last,  *Sic.,  or  laborers, 
rnen  attached  to  the  soil,  who  cultivated  it  fjr  masters  ;  3d. 
slaves  properly  so  called.  The  existence  of  tlie  first  two 
classes  evidently  indicates  a  conquest ;  the  class  of  freemen 
was  the  nation  of  conquerors,  who  had   oblig^^'d  (lie  aneieiJ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  158 

population  to  cultivate  the  soil  for  them.  This  was  an  ana- 
.ogous  fact  to  tliat  which,  at  a  later  period,  in  the  Roman 
empire,  gave  rise  to  the  feudal  system.  This  fact  was  ac- 
complished at  various  epochs,  and  upon  various  points,  in  tho 
interior  of  Germany.  Sometimes  the  proprietors  and  the  la- 
borers— the  conquerors  and  the  conquered — were  of  different 
races — sometimes  it  was  in  the  hosom  of  the  satne  race,  be. 
tween  diirerent  tribes,  that  the  territorial  subjection  took  place; 
we  see  Gaulish  or  Belgian  colonies  submit  to  German  colonies, 
Germans  to  Slavonians,  Slavonians  to  Germans,  Germans  to 
Germans.  Conquest  was  generally  effected  upon  a  small 
scale,  and  remained  exposed  to  many  vicissitudes  ;  but  the 
fact  itself  cannot  be  disputed;  many  passages  in  Tacitua 
positively  express  it : 

"  The  slaves,  in  general,  are  not  arranged  in  their  several 
employments  in  household  affairs,  as  is  the  practice  at  Rome. 
Each  has  his  separate  habitation  or  home.  The  master  con- 
siders him  as  an  agrarian  dependent,  who  is  obliged  to  furnish, 
by  way  of  rent,  a  certain  quantity  of  grain,  of  cattle,  or  of 
wearing  apparel.  The  slave  does  this,  and  there  his  servi- 
tude  ends.  All  domestic  matters  are  managed  by  the  master's 
own  wife  and  children.  To  punish  a  slave  with  stripes,  to 
load  him  with  chains,  or  condemn  him  to  bard  labor,  is  up- 
usual."  {lb.  XXV.) 

Who  does  not  recognize  in  this  description,  ancient  inha- 
bitants of  the  territory,  fallen  under  the  yoke  of  conquerors  ? 

The  conquerors,  in  the  earliest  ages  at  least,  did  not  culti- 
vate. They  enjoyed  the  conquest — sometimes  abandoned  to 
a  profound  idleness,  sometimes  excited  with  a  profound  pas- 
sion for  war,  hunting,  and  adventures.  Some  distant  expedi- 
tion tempted  them ;  all  were  not  of  the  same  inclination — • 
they  did  not  all  go  ;  a  party  set  off  under  the  conduct  of  some 
famous  chief;  others  remained,  preferring  to  guard  their  first 
conquests,  and  continued  to  live  upon  the  labor  of  the  ancient 
inhabitants.  The  adventurous  party  sometimes  returned 
laden  with  booty,  sometimes  pursued  its  course,  and  went  to 
a  distance  to  conquer  some  province  of  the  empire,  perhaps 
fouid  some  kingdom.  It  was  thus  that  the  Vandals,  the  Suevi, 
the  Franks,  the  Saxons,  were  dispersed  ;  thus  we  find  these 
.»ations  over-running  Gaul,  Spain,  Africa,  Britain,  establishing 
ihemselves  there,  beginning  states,  while  the  same  names  are 
hlways  met  with  in  Germany — where,  in  fact,  the  same  peo- 
ple still  live  and  act.     They  were   parcelled  out :  one  juij' 


i54  iiisTouy  OF 

abandoned  themselves  to  the  wandering  life ;  another  was 
attached  to  the  sedentary  life,  perhaps  only  waiting  the  occa- 
sion or  temptation  to  set  out  in  its  turn. 

Hence  arises  the  difference  between  the  point  of  view  of 
the  German  writers,  and  that  of  our  own ;  they  more  espo. 
cially  were  acquainted  with  that  portion  of  the  German  tribua 
which  remained  upon  the  soil,  and  was  more  and  more  ad- 
dicted to  the  agricultural  and  sedentary  life  ;  we,  on  the  con- 
trary, have  been  naturally  led  to  consider  chiefly  the  portion 
which  followed  the  wandering  life,  and  which  invaded  western 
Europe.  Like  the  learned  Germans,  we  speak  of  the  Franks, 
the  Saxons,  the  Suevi,  but  not  of  tiie  same  Suevi,  the  same 
Saxons,  the  same  Franks ;  our  researches,  our  words,  almost 
always  refer  to  those  who  passed  the  Rhine,  and  it  is  in  the 
state  of  wandering  bands  that  we  have  seen  them  appear  in 
Gaul,  in  Spain,  in  Britain,  &c.  Tlie  assertions  of  the  Ger- 
mans chiefly  allude  to  the  Saxons,  the  Suevi,  tlie  Franks  who 
remained  in  Germany ;  and  it  is  in  tlie  state  of  conquering 
nations,  it  is  true,  but  fixed,  or  almost  fixed  in  certain  parts 
of  the  land,  and  beginning  to  lead  the  life  of  proprietors,  that 
they  are  exhibited  by  almost  all  the  ancient  monuments  ol 
local  history.  The  error  of  these  scholars,  if  I  mistake  not,  is 
in  carrying  the  authority  of  these  monuments  too  far  back — 
too  anterior  to  the  fourtli  century, — of  attributing  too  remote 
a  date  to  the  sedentary  life,  and  to  the  fixedness  of  the  social 
state  in  Germany;  but  the  error  is  nmch  more  natural  and 
less  important  than  it  would  be  on  our  part. 

With  regard  to  ancient  German  institutions,  I  shall  speak 
of  them  in  detail  when  we  treat  especially  of  the  barbarian 
laws,  and  more  especially  of  the  Salic  law.  I  sliall  confine 
myself  at  present  to  tlie  characterizing,  in  a  few  words,  their 
state  at  the  epoch  which  occupies  us. 

At  that  time,  we  find  among  the  (Jermans  the  seeds  of  the 
three  great  systems  of  institutions  which,  after  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  empire,  contested  for  Europe.  We  find  there :  1st, 
assemblies  of  freemen,  where  they  debate  upon  the  common 
interests,  public  enterprises,  all  the  important  affairs  of  the 
nation  ;  2dly,  kings,  some  by  hereditary  title,  and  sometimes 
invested  with  a  religious  character,  others  by  title  of  election, 
and  especially  bearing  a  warlike  character ;  3dly,  the  aris. 
tociatica'  patronage,  whether  of  the  warlike  ciiief  over  hia 
companions,  or  of  the  proprietor  over  his  family  and  laborers. 
These  three  systems,  tliese  three  modes  of  social  orgiuiizatiou 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  166 

and  of  government  may  be  seen  in  almost  all  the  (jerman 
tribes  before  the  invasion;  but  none  of  them  are  real,  effica- 
cious. Properly  speaking,  there  are  no  free  institutions,  mo- 
narchies,  or  aristocracies,  but  merely  the  principle  to  which 
they  relate,  the  germ  from  whence  they  may  arise.  Every- 
thing is  abandoned  to  the  caprice  of  individual  wills.  When, 
ever  the  assembly  of  the  nation,  or  the  king,  or  the  lord, 
wished  to  bo  obeyed,  the  individual  must  either  consent,  01 
disorderly  brute  force  obliged  him.  This  is  the  free  develop, 
nient  and  the  contest  between  individual  existences  and  liber- 
t  ^s ;  there  was  no  public  power,  no  government,  no  sta.e. 

With  regard  to  the  moral  condition  of  the  Germans  at  this 
epoch,  it  is  very  difficult  to  estimate  it.  It  has  been  made  the 
text  of  infinite  declamation  in  honor  of  or  against  civilization 
or  savao-e  life,  of  primitive  independence  or  of  developed  so- 
ciety, of  natural  simplicity  or  of  scientific  enlightenment;  but 
we  are  without  documents  enabling  us  to  estimate  the  ti'ue 
nature  of  these  generalities.  There  exists,  however,  one 
great  collection  of  facts,  posterior,  it  is  true,  to  the  epoch  of 
which  we  are  speaking,  but  which  yet  presents  a  sufficiently 
faithful  image  of  it;  this  is  the  Histoire  des  Francs,  by  Gre- 
gory of  Tours,  unquestionably,  of  all  others,  the  work  which 
furnishes  us  with  the  most  information,  which  throws  the 
clearest  light  upon  the  moral  slate  of  the  barbarians;  not  that 
the  chronicler  made  it  any  part  of  his  plan,  but,  in  the  ordi- 
nary  course  of  his  narrative,  he  relates  an  infinite  ninnber  of 
j)rivatc  anecdotes,  of  incidents  of  domestic  life,  in  which  the 
manners,  the  social  arrangements,  the  moral  state,  in  a  word, 
the  man  of  his  period,  are  exhibited  to  us  more  clearly  than 
in  any  other  work  we  possess. 

It  is  here  that  we  may  contemplate  and  understand  this 
singular  mixture  of  violence  and  deceit,  of  improvidence  and 
calculation,  of  patience  and  bursts  of  passion  ;  this  egoism  of 
interest  and  of  passion,  mixed  with  the  indestructible  empire 
of  certain  ideas  of  duty,  of  certain  disinterested  sentiments : 
in  a  word,  that  chaos  of  our  moral  nature  which  constitutes 
barbarism  ;  a  state  of  things  very  difficult  to  describe  w  ith  pre- 
cision,  for  it  has  no  general  and  fixed  feature,  no  one  decided 
principle ;  there  is  no  proposition  we  can  make  it,  which  we 
are  not  compelled  the  next  instant  to  modify,  or  altogether  to 
lb  row  aside.  It  is  humanity,  strong  and  active,  but  abandoned 
to  the  impulse  of  its  reckless  propensities,  to  the  incessant  mo. 
lidity  of  its  wayward  fancies,  to  the  gross  imperfection  of  its 


156  HISTORY    OF 

knowledge,  to  the  incoherence  of  its  ideas,  to  the  infinite  va 
riety  of  the  situations  and  accidents  of  its  life. 

It  were  impossible  to  penetrate  far  enough  into  such  a  slate, 
and  reproduce  its  image,  by  the  mere  aid  of  a  few  dry  and 
mutilated  chronicles,  of  a  few  fragments  of  old  poems,  of  a  few 
unconnected  paragraphs  of  old  laws, 

I  know  but  of  one  way  of  attaining  anything  like  a  coitv^ct 
idea  of  the  social  and  moral  state  of  the  German  tribes — it  is 
to  compare  them  with  the  tribes  who,  in  modern  times,  in 
various  parts  of  the  globe,  in  North  America,  in  the  interior 
of  Africa,  in  the  north  of  Asia,  are  still  almost  in  the  same 
degree  of  civilization,  and  lead  very  nearly  the  same  life. 
The  latter  have  been  observed  more  nearly,  and  described  in 
greater  detail ;  fresh  accounts  of  them  reach  us  every  day. 
We  have  a  thousand  facilities  for  regulating  and  completing 
our  ideas  with  respect  to  them ;  our  imagination  is  constantly 
excited,  and  at  the  same  time  rectified,  by  the  narratives  of 
travellers.  By  closely  and  critically  observing  these  narra. 
tives,  by  comparing  and  analyzing  the  various  circumstances, 
they  become  for  us  as  it  were  a  mirror,  in  which  we  raise  up 
and  reproduce  the  image  of  the  ancient  Germans.  I  have  gone 
through  this  task  ;  I  have  followed,  step  by  step,  the  work  of 
Tacitus,  seeking  throughout  my  progress,  in  voyages  and 
travels,  in  histories,  in  national  poetry,  in  all  the  documents 
which  we  possess  concerning  the  barbarous  tribes  in  the  va- 
rious parts  of  the  world,  facts  analogous  to  those  described  by 
the  Roman  writer.  I  will  lay  before  you  the  principal  fea 
tures  of  this  comparison,  and  you  will  be  astonished  at  the  re- 
seniblance  between  the  manners  of  the  Germaijs  and  those  of 
the  more  modern  barbarians — a  resemblance  which  sometimes 
extends  into  details  where  one  would  have  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  finding  it. 

1.  1. 

••  To  retreat,  if  you  afterwards        "  Our    warriors    do    nut    pique 

return  to  the  charge,  is  considered    themselves  ujion  attacking  the  ene- 

prudent  skill,   not  cowardice.'  —    my  in  front,  and  wiiiie  lie  is  on  his 

be  Moribus  Germanorum,  vi.  guard  ;  for  this  they  must  be  ten  to 

one."     Choix  de  Litt.   edif.  Mis 
sions  d'Amerique,  vii.  49. 

"  Savages  do  not  pride  them- 
selves upon  attacking  the  enemy 
in  front  and  by  open  force.  If,  de- 
spite all  their  precautions  and  their 
address,  their  movements  are  dis- 
covered, they  think  the  wisest  plan 
is  to  retire  " — Rohertson's  Hist  nf 
America,  ii 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


167 


"  Their  wives  and  mothers  ac- 
•ompany  (hem  to  the  field  of  bat- 
tle ;  and  when  their  relatives  are 
wounded,  count  eacli  honorable 
^ish,  and  suck  the  blood.  They 
ire  even  daring  enough  to  mix 
vv  th  the  combatants,  taking  re- 
freshments to  tliem  and  reanimat- 
ing their  courage." — lb.  vii. 

"  They  have  accounts  of  armies 
I)ut  to  the  rout,  who  have  been 
brought  to  the  charge  by  the  wo- 
men and  old  men  preventing  their 
flight." — lb.  viii. 


3. 
"  There  is  in  their  ojjinion  some- 
thing sacred  in  the  female  sex,  and 
even  the  power  of  foreseeing  future 
events;  the  advice  of  the  women, 
therefore,  is  frequently  so  ;ght,  and 
iheir  counsels  respected.'  — lb. 


"  Their  attention  to  auguries, 
and  the  practice  of  divination,  is 
conducted  with  a  degree  of  super- 
stition not  exceeded  by  any  other 
nation.  .  .  .  The  braich  of  a  fruit 
tree  is  cut  into  small  pieces,  which 
ocing  all  distinctly  marked,  are 
thrown  at  random  on  a  white  cloth, 
[f  a  question  of  public  interest  be 
depending,  the  high  priest  per- 
forms the  ceremony ;  if  it  be  only  a 
private  matter,  the  master  of  the 


The  heroes  of  Homer  fly  when 
ever,  finding  themselves  the  w  eak- 
er  party,  they  have  the  opjicrtu- 
nity. 

2. 
"  The  Tungusian  women  in  Si- 
beria go  to  war  as  well  as  their 
husbands ;  and  they  have  as  rough 
treatment." — Meineis'  Hist  of  tht 
Female  Sex,  i    18,  19. 

"  At  the  battle  of  Yermuk,  in 
Syria,  in  030,  the  last  line  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  sister  of  Dezar,  vyith 
the  Arabian  women,  who  were  ac- 
customed to  wield  the  bow  and  the 
lance.  Thrice  did  the  Arabs  re- 
treat in  disorder,  and  thrice  wore 
they  driven  back  to  the  charge  by 
the  reproaches  and  blows  of  the 
women." — Gibbon's  Hist,  of  the 
Dec.  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire. 

3. 
"  When  a  national  war  breaks 
o.it,  the  priests  and  diviners  are 
consulted;  sometimes,  even,  they 
take  the  advice  of  the  women." — 
Rob.  Hist  of  America,  ii. 

"  The  Hurons,  in  particular,  pay 
particular  respect  to  women." — 
Charlevoix,  Hist,  of  Canada. 

"  The  Gauls  consulted  the  wo- 
men in  important  affairs;*  they 
agreed  with  Hannibal  that  if  the 
Carthaginians  had  to  complain  of 
the  Gauls,  they  should  carry  their 
complaint  before  the  Gaulish  wo- 
men, who  should  be  the  judges  of 
them." — Mom.  de  I'Academ.  des 
Inscrip.  xxiv.  37  1,  Memoire  do 
I'Abbe  Fenel. 

4. 
"  This  mode  of  divination,  by 
rod,  has  some  relation  with  divina- 
tion by  arrow,. which  was  in  usage 
throughout  the  F'.ast.  When  Turk- 
mans were  established  in  Persia, 
after  the  defeat  of  the  Ghaznevides 
(a.  d.  103S),  they  chose  a  king  by 
writing  upon  arrows  the  names  of 
the  different  tribes,  of  the  different 
families  of  the  tribes,  taken  by  lot, 
and  of  the  different  members  of  thd 
family." — Gibbon,  Hist,  of  the  Do 


158 


IIISTOHY    OF 


family  officiates.  Having  invoked 
the  gods,  with  his  eyes  devoutly 
raised  to  heaven,  he  holds  up  three 
times  each  segment  of  the  twig,  and 
as  the  marks  rise  in  succession,  in- 
terprets the  decrees  of  fate. 

"  The  practice  of  consulting  the 
notes  and  flight  of  birds  is  also  in 
use  8_aong  them." — lb.  x. 
5. 

"The  kings  in  Germany  owe 
their  election  to  the  nobility  of 
their  births  ;  the  generals  are  cho- 
sen for  their  valor.  Tlie  power  of 
the  former  is  not  arbitrary  or  un- 
limited ;  the  latter  command  more 
by  warlike  example  than  by  their 
mere  orders ;  to  be  of  a  promjit  and 
daring  spirit  in  battle,  to  appear  in 
the  front  of  the  lines,  insures  the 
obedience  of  the  soldiers,  admirers 
of  valor.  The  whole  nation  takes 
cognizance  of  imjiortant  alliiirs. 
The  princes  and  ciiiets  gain  atten- 
tion rather  by  the  force  of  their  ar- 
guments than  by  any  authority.  If 
their  opinion  is  unsatisfactory  to 
the  warriors,  the  assembly  reject  it 
oy  a  general  murmur.  If  the  pro- 
position pleases,  they  brandish 
their  javelins." — lb.  vii.  11. 
6. 

"  In  that  consists  his  dignity  ;  to 
be  surrounded  by  a  band  of  young 
men  is  the  source  of  his  power;  in 
peace,  his  higiiest  ornament — in 
war,  his  strongest  bulwark.  Nor  is 
his  fame  confined  to  his  own  coun- 
try ;  it  extends  to  foreign  nations, 
and  he  is  then  of  tiie  first  import- 
ance, if  he  surpasses  hig  -ivals  in 
the  number  and  courage  of  his  fol- 
lowers. If,  in  the  course  of  a  long 
peace,  a  tribe  languishes  under  in- 
dolence, the  young  men  often  seek 
in  a  body  a  more  active  life  with 
another  tribe  that  is  engaged  in 
war.  The  new  chief  must  show  his 
liberality;  he  must  give  to  one  a 
horse,  to  another  a  shield,  to  an- 
other a  blood-stained  and  victori- 
ous spear;  to  all  plentiful  food  and 
potations.  These  are  their  only 
pay." — lb.  xiii 


cline  and  Fall  of  the  Roium  Ru> 
pire,  xi.  224. 

"  Presages  drawn  from  the  aouw 
and  flight  of  birds  were  known 
among  the  Romans,  among  thi 
Greeks,  among  the  greater  part  of 
the  savages  of  America,  Natchez, 
Moxes,  Chequites,  &-c." — Lett 
edif  vii.  255,  viii.  141,  264. 
5. 

"  Savages  know  among  them- 
selves neither  princes  nor  kings. 
They  say  in  Europe  that  they  have 
republics  ;  but  these  republics  have 
no  approach  to  stable  laws.  Each 
family  looks  upon  itself  as  abso 
lutelj  free;  each  Indian  believes 
himself  independent.  Still  tliey 
have  learned  tlie  necessity  of  form- 
ing among  tliem  a  kind  of  society, 
and  of  choosing  a  chief,  whom  they 
call  cacique,  that  is  to  say,  com- 
mander In  order  to  be  raised  to 
tills  dignity,  it  is  necessary  to  have 
given  striking  proofs  of  valor  "  - 
Lett.  edif.  viii.  133. 


"  The  most  powerful  order 
among  the  Iroquois  is  that  of  war- 
like chiefs.  It  is  first  necessary 
that  they  should  be  successful,  and 
that  they  should  by  no  means  lose 
sight  of  those  wlio  follow  them  ; 
that  they  should  deprive  tiiem- 
selves  of  whatever  is  dear  to  them- 
selves in  favor  of  tlieir  soldiers." — 
Mern.  sur  les  Iroquois,  in  the  Va- 
rietes  Litteraires,  i.  543. 

"  Tiie  influence!  of  tlie  warlike 
chiefs  over  the  young  men  is  more 
or  less  great,  according  as  tiiey  give 
more  or  less,  as  they  more  or  less 
keep  open  table  " — Journal  dei 
Campagnes  de  M.  de  Bouj^'ainville 
in  Canada,  in  the  Varietes  Litl& 
raires,  i.  488. 


ClVir.lZATION     IN     FUANCR. 


tM 


"  When  the  Stato  lias  no  war  on 
lis  hands,  the  men  pass  tlieir  time 
partly  in  the  chase,  partly  in  sloth 
and  gluttony.  The  intrepid  war- 
rior, who  in  the  field  braved  every 
danger,  bccomcg  in  time  of  peace 
a  listless  sluggard.  Tlio  manage- 
ment of  lu3  house  and  lands  he 
leaves  to  the  women,  to  tlie  old 
men,  and  to  the  other  weaker  por- 
tions of  his  family." — lb.  xv. 


'« The  Germans,  it  is  •veil 
icnovvn,  have  no  regular  cities,  nor 
do  they  even  like  their  houses  to 
.TO  near  each  other.  They  dwell 
in  separate  habitations,  dispersed 
up  and  down,  as  a  grove,  a  sjiring, 
or  a  meadow  happens  to  invite. 
They  have  villages,  but  not  in  our 
fashion,  with  connected  buildings. 
Every  tenement  stands  detached  " 
—lb.  xvi. 

9. 

"  They  are  almost  the  only  bar- 
barians who  content  themselves 
with  one  wife.  There  are,  indeed, 
some  cases  of  polygamy  among 
them,  not,  however,  the  efToct  of 
licentio  jsness,  but  by  reason  of  the 
rank  of  '.le  n->jties." — lb.  xviii. 


10. 
"  Ft  is  not  the  wife  who  brings 
a  dowry  to  her  husband,  but  the 
husband  who  gives  one  to  his 
bride  ;  not  presents  adapted  for  fe- 
male vanity,  but  oxen,  a  capari- 
woncd  horse,  a  shield  and  spear 
ai  -J  sword." — lb.' 


"  Witii  the  exception  of  some 
trifling  huntings,  the  Illinois  lead 
a  perfectly  indolent  life  They 
pass  their  time  in  smoking  am' 
talking,  and  that  is  all.  They  re- 
main tranquil  upon  their  mats,  and 
pass  their  time  in  slopping  or  mak- 
ing bows.  As  to  the  women,  they 
labor  from  morning  till  night  like 
slaves." — Lett,  edif  vii.  32,  8G7 
See  also  Robertson's  History  of 
America,  ii. 

8. 

"  The  villages  of  the  American 
savages  and  of  the  mountaineers  of 
Corsica,  arc  built  in  the  same  way  ; 
they  are  formed  of  houses  scattered 
aiid  distant  from  one  another,  so 
that  a  village  of  fifty  houses  some- 
times occupies  a  quarter  of  a  league 
square." — Volney,  Tableau  des 
Etats  Unis  d'Amerique,  484 — 486 


"  Among  tlie  savages  of  North 
America,  in  districts  where  the 
means  of  subsistence  were  raf, 
and  the  difl^culties  of  raising  a  fa- 
mily very  greats. the  man  confined 
himself  to  a  single  wife." — Robert- 
son's History  of  America. 

"  Although  the  Moxes  (in  Peru) 
allow  polygamy,  it  is  rare  for  them 
to  have  more  than  one  wife;  their 
poverty  will  not  allow  of  their 
having  morr  " — Lett,  edif  viii.  71. 

"  Among  the  Guaranis  (in  Para- 
guay) polygamy  is  not  permitted 
to  the  people ;  but  the  caciques 
may  have  two  or  three  wives."-- 
lb.  261. 

10. 

This  takes  place  R'hcrever  the 
husband  buys  his  wife,  and  where 
the  wife  becomes  the  property,  the 
slave  of  her  husband.  "  Among 
the  Indians  of  Guiana  the  women 
have  no  dowry  on  marrying.  An 
Indian,  who  wishes   to  marry  an 


'  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  Germans  bought  their  wives:  a  law  of 


160 


HISTORY    OF 


11 
"  Populous  as  the  country  is, 
aaultery  is  rarely  heard  of;  when 
detected,  the  punishment  is  imme- 
diate, and  indicted  by  the  husband. 
lie  cuts  off  the  hair  of  liis  guilty 
wife,  and  having  assembled  her 
relations,  expels  her  naked  from 
his  house,  pursuing  her  with 
stripes  through  the  village." — lb. 
Xix 


12. 

•'  It  is  generally  late  before  their 
young  men  enjoy  tlie  jjleasures  of 
love,  and  consequently  they  are 
not  exhausted  in  their  youth.  Nor 


Indian  woma«,  must  make  conol 
derable  presents  to  the  father  ; — j 
canoe,  bows  and  arrows,  are  not 
sufficient ;  he  must  labor  a  year  for 
his  future  father-in-law,  cook  for 
him,  hunt  for  liim,  fish  for  him, 
&.C.  Women  among  tlie  Guanis 
are  true  property." — MS.  Journal 
of  a  Residence  in  Guiana,  by  M.  do 
M. 

"  It  is  the  same  among  the  Nat- 
chez, in  many  Tartar  tribes  in 
Mingrelia,  in  Pegu,  among  many 
Negro  tribes  in  Africa." — Lett, 
edif.  vii.  221  ;  Lord  Kaimes'g 
Sketches  of  tlie  History  of  Man.  i 
181—180. 

11. 

"  It  is  pretended  that  adultery 
was  unknown  among  the  Caribbees 
of  tlie  islands,  before  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Europeans." — Lord 
Kaimcs,  i.  207. 

"  Adultery  among  the  savages 
of  North  America  is  generally 
punislied  without  form  or  process, 
by  the  husband,  wlio  sometime* 
severely  beats  his  wife,  sometimes 
bites  ofl'  lier  nose." — Lang's  Tra- 
vels among  tlie  difl'erent  savage 
nations  of  North  America,  177. 
See  also  the  History  of  the  Ameri- 
can Indians  by  James  Adair  (1775)^ 
144  ;  Varietes  Litteraires,  i.  45b 
12. 

The  coldness  of  wandering  sav- 
ages, in  matters  of  love,  has  oftep 
been  remarked  :  Bruce  w.is  struck 
with    it    among    the    Gallas    ana 


the  Burgundians  declares — "  If  any  one  dismiss  his  wife  without  a 
good  reason,  lie  must  give  her  a  sum  eijual  to  wliat  he  paid  for  her." — 
Tit.  x.vxiv.  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Ostrogoths,  in  giving  liis  niece  in 
marriage  to  Hermanfried,  king  of  tlie  Thuringians,  writes  lo  hiin,  by 
the  hand  of  Cassiodorus :  "  VVe  inform  you  tliat  on  the  arrival  of  yout 
*»nvoys,  they  punctually  delivered  to  us  the  horses  harnessed  with  the 
silver  trappings,  befitting  royal  marriage  horses,  the  price  you,  aftej 
the  custom  of  the  Gentiles,  gave  us  for  our  niece." — Cassiodorus,  Va- 
or.,  iv.  1. 

liown  to  a  very  recent  period,  the  betrothing  in  Lower  Saxony  wae 
-ialled  brudkop,  that  is  to  say  bruutkuuf  [vide  pur'".ha'<el. — Adelung 
History  of  the  A  icient  Germans,  2U1. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


101 


aro  the  virgins  married  too  soon." 
Fb  XV. 


13. 

Tlv  uncle  on  the  mother's  side 
regardn  his  nephews  with  an  aflec- 
tion  nothin  j;  interior  to  that  of  their 
father.  Wit!i  some,  this  relation- 
ship is  held  (.0  be  the  strongest  tie 
of  consaiigu'hity,  insomuch  that  in 
demanding  hostages,  maternal  ne- 
phews ar-i  preferred,  as  the  most 
endearing  objects,  and  the  safest 
pledges. — lb. 


14. 

"  To  adopt  the  quarrels  as  well 
as  the  friendships  of  their  parents 
and  relations,  is  held  to  be  an  in- 
dispensable diaty." — lb.  xxi. 


Shangallas,  on  the  fri  nliers  of 
Abyssinia:  Levaillant,  among  the 
Hottentots.  "  The  Iroquois  knov» 
and  say  that  the  use  of  women 
enervates  their  courage  and  their 
strength,  and  that,  wishing  to  be 
warlike,  they  should  abstain  from 
using  them,  or  use  tliom  with  mo- 
deration."— Mem.  s'u-  les  Iroquois, 
in  the  Varietes  Litt^raires,  i.  45r) ; 
see  also  Volney,  Tahl.  dcs  Etats- 
Unis,  413;  Malthus's  Kssays  upon 
the  principle  of  Population,  i.  50, 
Robertson's  History  of  America, 
ii.  237. 

Among  the  Grccnlanders,  the 
girls  marry  at  twenty  ;  it  is  the 
same  among  most  of  the  northern 
savages. — Meiner's  History  of  the 
Female  Sex,  i.  29. 
13. 

Among  the  Natchez  "  it  is  not 
the  son  of  the  reigning  chief  who 
succeeds  to  his  father  ;  it  is  the  son 
of  his  sister.  .  .  ,  This  policy  is 
founded  on  the  knowledge  of  the 
licentiousness  of  their  wives  ;  they 
are  sure,  say  they,  that  the  son  of 
the  sister  of  the  great  chief  is  of 
tiie  blood  royal,  at  least  on  his  mo- 
ther's side."— Lett,  edif  vii.  217. 

Among  the  Iroquois  and  the  Hu- 
rons,  the  dignity  of  a  chief  alway* 
passes  to  the  children  of  his  aunts, 
of  his  sisters,  or  of  his  nieces  on 
the  maternal  side.— Moeurs  des 
Sauvages,  by  father  Lafitau,  i.  73, 
471. 

14. 

"  Every  one  knows  that  this  fea- 
ture is  found  among  all  nations  in 
the  infancy  of  civilization,  where 
as  yet  there  was  no  public  power 
to  protect  or  punish.  1  shall  cite 
but  one  example  of  this  obstinacy 
of  savages  in  taking  vengeance  ;  it 
appears  to  me  striking  and  very 
analogous  to  what  is  recounted  of 
the  Germans  by  Gregory  of  Tours 
and  other  characters. 

"  An  Indian,  of  a  tribe  establish- 
ed on  the  Maroni,  a  violent  and 
blood-thirsty  man,  had  assassinated 
one  of  his  neighbors  of  the  samr 


ifli 


HISTORY    OF 


15. 

"  Hospitality  is  nowhere  more 
liberally  observed  To  turn  any 
man  from  tlieir  door  was  regarded 
as  a  crime." — lb. 


10. 

"  A  German  delights  in  the  gifts 
which  he  receives;  yet  in  bestow- 
ing, he  imputes  nothing  to  you  as  a 
favor,  and  for  what  he  receives,  he 
acknowledges  no  obligation." — lb. 


17. 
♦'  To  devote  both  day  and  night 
lo  deep  drinking,  is  a  disgrace  to 
no  mar.  " — lb.  xxii. 


village  ;  to  escape  the  re.sentmen 
of  the  family  of  his  enemy,  he  fled 
and  established  himself  at  Simapo 
at  a  distance  of  four  leagues  iVoir 
our  desert ;  a  brother  of  Ihe  de 
ceased  did  not  delay  following  lh{ 
murderer.  On  iiis  arrival  at  Sima- 
po, the  captain  asked  him  what  h« 
came  there  to  do.  '  I  came,'  said 
he,  '  to  kill  Averani,  who  lias  kill- 
ed  my  brotlier.'  '  1  cannot  provoni 
you,'  said  tiie  cajjtain  to  him.  iiu( 
Averani  was  warned  during  the 
night,  and  fled  with  his  children. 
His  enemy,  informed  of  iiis  depar- 
ture, and  tiiat  he  had  repaired  by 
the  interior  towards  the  river 
Aprouague,  resolved  to  follow  him. 
'  I  will  kill  him,'  said  he,  '  though 
he  flee  to  the  Portuguese.'  He  im- 
mediately set  out.  We  know  not 
whether  he  attained  his  end." — 
Journal  Manuscrit  d'un  sejour  a 
la  Guyanne  par  M.  de  M. 
15. 

"  The  hospitality  of  all  savage 
nations  is  proverbial." — See  in  the 
Histoire  de  I'Acailemie  des  In- 
scriptions, iii.  41,  the  extract  from 
a  memoir  of  M.  Simon,  and  a  num- 
ber of  accounts  of  travellers. 
16. 

"  It  is  the  same  with  the  Ame- 
rican savages;  they  give  and  re- 
ceive with  great  pleasure,  but  they 
do  not  think  of,  nor  will  they  ac- 
cei)t,  any  acknowledgment.  '  If 
you  have  given  me  this,'  say  the 
Galibis, '  it  is  because  you  have  no 
need  of  it.'  " — Aublet,  Histoire  dea 
Plantes  de  la  Guyanne  Fran^  lise, 
ii.  lu. 

17. 

"  The  inclination  of  savage  na- 
tions for  wine  and  strong  liquors 
is  universally  known  ;  the  Indians 
of  Guiana  take  long  journeys  to 
procure  it ;  one  of  them,  of  the 
colony  of  Simapo,  replied  toM.  da 

M ,  who  asked  him  where  they 

were  going  :  to  drink,  as  our  pea- 
santry say  :  to  the  harvest,  to  tht 
fair." — Manuscript  Diary  of  a  Ro 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRAN'^E 


ltf» 


18. 
"  They   have    but   one   sort   of 

Siililic  spectacle  ;  the  ^oung  men 
aiice  naked  amidst  swords  and 
javelins  pointed  at  their  breasts." 
— lb.  xxiv. 

19. 
"  They  yield  to  gambling  with 
5'ich  ardor,  that  wlien  they  have 
lost  everything,  they  place  their 
own  liberty  on  the  hazard  of  the 
die." — lb. 

20. 
"  It  was  not  in  order  to  succeed  in 
love,  or  to  please,  that  they  decked 
themselves,  but  in  order  to  give 
themselves  a  gigantic  and  terrible 
appearance,  as  they  might  have 
decked  themselves  to  go  before 
<heir  enemies." — lb.  c.  38. 

21. 

From  the  age  of  early  manho  )d 
they  allow  their  hair  and  beard 
to  grow,  until  they  have  killed  an 
enemy  — lb.  c   31. 


sidence     in    Guiana,     bv     M.    de 

M . 

18. 

"  Love  does  not  enter  the  leaal 
into  the  dances  of  the  North  Ame- 
rican savages;  they  are  only  war- 
like dances." — Robertson's  History 
of  America,  ii.  4r)9-'10I 
19. 

"The  Americans  play  for  their 
furs,  their  domestic  utensils,  their 
clothes,  their  arms,  and  when  all 
is  lost,  we  often  see  them  risk,  a( 
a  single  blow,  their  liberty." 
20. 

"  When  the  Iroquois  choose  t'; 
paint  their  faces  it  is  to  give  them- 
selves a  terrible  air,  with  which 
they  hope  to  intimidate  their  ene- 
mies ;  it  is  also  for  this  reason  that 
they  paint  themselves  black  when 
they  go  to  war." — Varietes  Litt^- 
raires,  i.  472. 

21. 

After  the  Indians  are  twenty 
years  old,  they  allow  their  hair  to 
grow. — Lett.  edif.  viii.  261. 

The  custom  of  scalping,  or  tak- 
ing off  the  hair  of  their  enemies, 
so  common  among  the  Americans, 
was  also  practised  among  the  Ger- 
mans :  this  is  the  decafvare  men- 
tioned in  the  laws  of  the  Visi- 
goths ;  the  capillos  et  cutem  de- 
trahere,  still  in  use  among  the 
Franks  towards  the  year  879,  ac- 
cording to  the  annals  of  Fulda 
the  hettinan  of  the  Anglo  Saxons, 
&c. — Adelung,  Ancient  History  of 
the  Germans,  303. 


Here  are  numerous  citations  ;  I  might  extend  them  much 
more,  and  might  almost  always  place,  side  by  side  with  the 
most  trifling  assertion  of  Tacitus  concerning  the  Germans,  nn 
analogous  assertion  of"  some  modern  traveller  or  historian, 
concerning  some  one  of  the  barbarous  tribes  at  present  dis- 
porscfl  over  the  face  of  the  globe. 

You  sec  what  is  the  social  condition  which  corresponds  to 
that  of  ancient  Germany  :  what,  then,  must  we  tliink  of  those 
ningnificcnt  descriptions  which  have  so  often  been  drawn  ? 
IVeciscly  thtil  which   we  should  think  of  Cooper's  romances, 


164  IIISTOKY   OP 

as  pictures  of  the  condition  and  manners  of  the  savages  ol 
North  America.  There  is,  without  doubt,  in  these  romances, 
and  in  some  of  the  works  in  which  the  Germans  have  at- 
tempted to  depict  their  wild  ancestors,  a  sufliciently  vivid  and 
true  perception  of  certain  parts  and  certain  periods  of  barba- 
rous society  and  life — of  its  independence,  for  instance  ;  of  the 
activity  and  indolence  which  it  combines ;  of  the  skilful 
energy  which  man  therein  displays  against  the  obstacles  and 
perils  wherewith  material  nature  besieges  him;  of  the  mono- 
tonous  violence  of  his  passions,  &c.  &c.  But  the  picture  is 
very  incomplete — so  incomplete  that  the  truth  of  even  wha 
it  represents  is  often  much  changed  by  it.  That  Cooper,  in 
writing  of  the  Mohicans  or  the  Delawares,  and  that  the  Ger- 
man writers,  in  describing  the  ancient  Germans,  should  allow 
themselves  to  represent  all  things  under  their  poetic  aspect — 
that,  in  their  descriptions,  the  sentiments  and  circumstances 
of  barbarous  life  should  become  exalted  to  their  ideal  form — 
is  very  natural,  and  I  willingly  adnn't,  is  very  legitimate  :  the 
ideal  is  the  essence  of  poetry — history  itself  is  partial  to  it; 
and  perhaps  it  is  the  only  form  under  which  times  gone  by 
can  be  duly  represented.  But  the  idea  must  also  be  true, 
complete,  and  harmonious;  it  does  not  consist  in  the  arbitrary 
and  fanciful  suppression  of  a  large  portion  of  the  reality  to 
which  it  corresponds.  Assuredly  the  songs  which  bear  the 
name  of  Homer,  form  an  ideal  picture  of  Greek  society  ; 
nevertheless  that  society  is  therein  reproduced  in  a  complete 
state,  with  the  rusticity  and  ferocity  of  its  manners,  liie  coarse 
simplicity  of  its  sentiments,  and  its  good  and  bad  passions, 
without  any  design  of  particularly  drawing  forth  or  cele- 
brating such  or  such  of  its  merits  and  its  advantages,  or  of 
leaving  in  the  shade  its  vices  and  its  eviio. 

This  mixture  of  good  and  evil,  of  strong  and  weak — thi^ 
co-existence  of  ideas  and  sentiments  apparently  contradictory 
— this  variety,  this  incoherence,  this  unequal  development  of 
Imman  nature  and  human  destiny — is  precisely  the  condition 
which  is  the  most  rife  with  poetry,  for  through  it  we  see  to  tlu; 
bottom  of  things,  it  is  the  truth  concerning  man  and  the  world  ; 
and  in  the  ideal  pictures  whicii  poetry,  romance,  and  even 
history,  make  of  it,  this  so  various  and  yet  harmonious  whole 
ought  to  be  found,  for  without  it  the  true  ideal  will  be  want- 
ing,  no  less  than  the  reality.  Now  it  is  into  this  fault  that  th« 
writers  of  whom  I  speak  have  always  fallen;  their  pictures 
of  savage  man  and  of  savage  life  are  cssentiallv  incomplete, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  I6ft 

foiinul,  facliliotis,  and  wanting  in  simplicity  and  liarinony. 
One  fancies  that  one  sees  melodramatic  barbarians  and 
savages,  who  present  themselves  to  display  their  independence, 
their  energy,  their  skill,  or  such  and  such  a  portion  of  their 
character  and  destiny,  before  the  eyes  of  spectators  who,  at 
once  greedy  of,  but  worn  out  with  excitement,  still  take  plea- 
sure  in  qualities  and  adventures  foreign  to  the  life  they  then), 
selves  lead,  and  to  the  society  by  which  they  are  surrounded. 
I  know  not  whether  you  are  struck,  as  I  am,  with  the  defects 
of  the  imagination  in  our  times.  Upon  the  whole,  it  seems  to 
me  that  it  lacks  nature,  facility,  and  extension  ;  it  does  not 
take  a  large  and  simple  view  of  things  in  their  primitive  and 
real  elements  ;  it  arranges  them  theatrically,  and  mutilates 
them  under  pretence  of  idealizing  them.  It  is  true  that  I 
find,  in  the  modern  descriptions  of  ancient  German  manners, 
sotne  scattered  characteristics  of  barbarism,  but  I  can  dis- 
cover  nothing  therefrom  of  what  barbarous  society  was  as  a 
whole. 

If  1  were  obligc<l  to  sum  up  that  which  I  have  now  said 
upon  the  state  of  the  Germans  before  the  invasion,  I  confess 
I  should  be  somewhat  embarrassed.  We  find  therein  no  pre- 
cise and  well  defined  traits  which  may  be  detached  and  dis- 
tinctly exhibited  ;  no  fact,  no  idea,  no  sentiment  had  as  yet 
attained  to  its  development,  or  as  yet  presented  itself  under  a 
determinate  form  ;  it  was  the  infancy  of  all  things,  of  the 
social  and  moral  states,  of  institutions,  of  relations,  of  man 
himself;  everything  was  rough  and  confused.  There  are, 
however,  two  points  to  which  I  think  I  ought  to  direct  your 
attention. 

1st.  At  the  opening  of  modern  civilization,  the  Germans 
influenced  it  far  less  by  the  institutions  which  they  brought 
with  them  from  Germany,  than  by  their  situation  itself, 
amidst  the  Roman  world.  They  had  conquered  it :  they  were, 
at  least  upon  the  spot  where  they  had  established  themselves, 
masters  of  the  population  and  of  the  territory.  The  society 
which  formed  itself  after  this  conquest,  arose  rather  from  this 
situation,  from  the  new  life  led  by  the  conquerors  in  their 
relations  with  the  conquered,  than  from  the  ancient  German 
manners. 

2d.  That  which  the  Germans  especially  brought  into  the 
Roman  world  was  the  spirit  of  individual  liberty,  the  need, 
the  passion  for  independence  and  individuality.  To  speak 
properly,    no  public    power,   no  religious  power,  existed   in 


166  KISTOKY    OF 

ancient  German.y  ;  the  only  real  power  in  this  society,  tra 
only  power  that  was  strong  and  active  in  it,  was  the  will 
of  man  ;  eacli  one  did  what  he  chose,  at  his  own  risk  and 
peril. 

The  system  of  force,  that  is  to  say,  of  personal  liberty,  was 
at  the  bottom  of  the  social  state  of  the  Germans.  Through 
this  it  was  that  their  influence  became  so  powerful  upon  the 
modern  world.  Very  general  expressions  border  always  so 
nearly  upon  inaccuracy,  that  I  do  not  like  to  risk  them. 
Nevertheless,  were  it  absolutely  necessary  to  express  in  few 
words  the  predominating  characters  of  the  various  elements 
of  our  civilization,  I  should  say,  that  tlie  spirit  of  legality,  of 
regular  association,  came  to  us  from  tiie  Roman  world,  from 
the  Roman  municipalities  and  laws.  It  is  to  Christianity,  to 
the  religious  society,  that  we  owe  the  spirit  of  morality,  the 
sentiment  and  empire  of  rule,  of  a  moral  law,  of  the  mutual 
duties  of  men.  The  Germans  conferred  upon  us  the  spirit 
of  liberty,  of  liberty  such  as  we  conceive  of,  and  are  ac- 
quainted with  it,  in  the  present  day,  us  the  right  and  projxirly 
of  each  individual,  master  of  himself,  of  his  actions,  and  of 
his  fate,  so  long  as  he  injures  no  other  individual.  This  is  a 
fact  of  universal  importance,  for  it  was  unknown  to  all  pre- 
ceding civilizations:  in  the  ancient  republics,  the  public  power 
disposed  all  tilings ;  the  individual  was  sacrificed  to  the 
citizen.  In  the  societies  where  the  religious  principle  pre- 
dominated, the  believer  belonged  to  his  God,  not  to  himself. 
Thus,  man  hitherto  had  always  been  absorbed  in  the  church 
or  in  the  state.  In  modern  Europe,  alone,  has  he  existed  and 
developed  himself  on  his  own  account  and  in  his  own  way, 
charged,  no  doubt,  charged  continually,  more  and  more 
heavily  with  toils  and  duties,  but  finding  in  himself  his  aim 
and  his  right.  It  is  to  German  manners  that  we  must  trace 
this  distinguishing  characteristic  of  our  civilization.  The 
fundamental  idea  of  liberty,  in  modern  Europe,  came  to  it  from 
Ka  conquerors. 


niVlllZATION     irt    FnANCE  111" 


EIGHT]  1  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — True  character  of  the  German  invasions— Caunc 
of  errors  on  tliis  subject— Description  of  tiie  itate  of  Gaul  in  the 
last  half  of  the  sixtli  century — Dissolution  of  Roman  society;  1.  In 
rural  districts  ;  2.  In  towns,  though  in  a  lesser  degree — Dissolution 
of  German  society  :  1.  Of  the  colony  or  tribe  ;  2.  Of  tlie  warfaring 
band — lOlemcnts  of  tlie  now  social  state  :  1.  Of  commencing  royalty  ; 
2.  Of  commencing  feudalism  ;  3.  Of  the  church,  after  the  invasior. 
— Summary. 

We  are  now  in  possession  of  the  two  primitive  md  funda- 
nr.ental  elements  of  French  civilization  ;  we  have  studied,  on 
the  one  hand,  Roman  civilization,  on  the  other,  German  so- 
ciety, each  in  itself,  and  prior  to  their  apposition.  Let  us 
endeavor  to  ascertain  what  happened  in  the  moment  at  which 
they  touched  together,  and  became  confounded  with  one 
another ;  that  is  to  say,  to  describe  the  condition  of  Gaul  after 
the  great  invasion  and  settlement  of  the  Germans. 

I  should  wish  to  assign  to  this  description  a  somewhat 
precise  date,  and  to  inform  you,  beforehand,  to  what  age  and 
to  what  territory  it  especially  belongs.  The  difllculty  of  doing 
this  is  great.  Such,  at  tliis  epoch,  was  the  confusion  of  things 
and  minds,  that  the  greater  part  of  the  facts  have  been  trans- 
mitted to  us  without  order  and  without  date  ;  particularly 
general  facts,  those  connected  with  institutions,  with  the  re- 
lations of  the  different  classes,  in  a  word,  with  the  social 
condition  ;  facts  which,  by  nature,  are  the  least  apparent  and 
the  least  precise.  They  are  omitted  or  strangely  confused 
.11  contemporary  monuments ;  we  must,  at  every  step,  guess 
at  and  restore  their  chronology.  Happily,  the  accuracy  of 
this  chronology  is  of  less  importance  at  this  epoch  than  at 
any  other.  No  doubt,  between  the  sixth  and  eighth  centu- 
ries, the  state  of  Gaul  must  have  changed  ;  relations  of  men, 
institutions  and  manners  must  have  been  modified ;  less, 
however,  than  we  might  be  tempted  to  believe.  The  chaos 
was  extreme,  and  chaos  is  eesentially  stationary.  When  all 
things  are  disordered  and  confounded  to  this  degree,  they 
require  much  time   for   unravelling  and  re-arranging  tlicni 


I6S  HISTORY    OF 

solves  ;  much  time  is  needed  for  eacli  of  the  elements  to  returr 
o  its  place,  to  re-enter  its  riglit  path,  to  place  itself  again  in 
some  measure  under  tlie  direction  and  motive  force  of  the 
>;pecial  principle  which  should  govern  its  development.  After 
the  settlement  of  the  barharians  upon  the  Roman  soil,  events 
and  men  revolved  for  a  long  time  in  the  same  circle,  a  prey 
to  a  movement  more  violent  than  progressive.  'J'hus,  from 
the  si.xth  to  tiie  eighth  century,  the  state  of  Gaul  changed 
less,  and  the  strict  chronology  of  general  facts  is  of  less  im- 
portance than  we  miglit  naturally  presume  from  the  len'flh 
of  the  interval.  Let  us,  nevertheless,  endeavor  to  determine, 
within  certain  limits,  the  epoch  of  which  we  are  now  to  trace 
the  picture. 

The  true  Germanic  people  who  occupied  Gaul  were  the 
Burgundians,  the  Visigoths,  and  the  Franks.  Many  other 
people,  many  other  single  bands  of  Vandals,  Alani,  Suevi, 
Saxons.  iStc,  wandered  over  its  territory ;  hut  of  these,  some 
only  passed  over  it,  and  the  others  were  rapidly  absorbed  by 
it ;  these  are  partial  incursions  which  are  without  any  histo- 
rical importance.  The  Burgundians,  the  Visigoths,  and  the 
Franks,  alone  deserve  to  be  counted  among  our  ancestors. 
The  Burgundians  definitively  established  themselves  in  Gaul 
between  tjje  years  406  and  413  ;  they  occupied  tiic  country 
between  the  Jura,  the  Saone,  and  the  Durance ;  Lyons  was 
the  centre  of  their  dominion.  The  Visigoths,  between  the 
years  412  and  450,  spread  themselves  over  the  provinces 
bounded  by  the  Rhone,  and  even  over  the  left  bank  of  the 
Rhone  to  the  south  of  the  Durance,  the  Loire,  and  the  Pyre- 
nees :  their  king  resided  at  Toulouse.  The  Franks,  between 
the  years  481  and  500,  advanced  in  the  north  of  Gaul,  and 
establislied  themselves  between  the  Rhine,  the  Scheldt,  and 
the  Loire,  without  inclutliiig  Brittuiiy  and  tlie  western  por- 
tions of  Normandy  ;  Clovis  bail  Soissons  and  Paris  for  hia 
capitals.  Tlius,  at  the  end  of  the  fiflh  century,  was  accom- 
|)lished  the  definitive  occupation  of  the  territory  of  Gaul  by 
liie  three  great  German  ti'ibes. 

The  condition  of  Gaul  was  not  exactly  the  same  in  ita 
various  parts,  and  under  tlie  dominion  of  these  three  nations. 
There  were  remarkable  difFerences  between  them.  The 
l"* ranks  were  far  more  fbieign,  German,  and  barbarous,  than 
the  Burgundians  and  the  Goths.  Before  their  entrance  into 
Gaul,  thes(i  last  had  had  ancient  relations  with  the  Romans; 
they  had  lived   in   the  eastern  empire,  in   Italy  ;  they  were 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  169 

(amiliur  with'  llic  Roman  maimers  and  population.  Wc  may 
say  almost  as  much  for  the  liurgundians.  Moreover,  the  two 
nations  had  long  been  Christians.  The  Franks,  on  the  con- 
trarv,  arrived  from  Gertnany  in  the  condition  of  pagans  and 
enemies.  Those  portions  of  Gaul  which  they  occupied  be- 
came deeply  sensible  of  this  difference,  which  is  described 
with  truth  and  rivacity  in  the  seventh  of  the  "  Lectures  upop 
the  History  of  France,"  of  M.  Augustin  Thierry.  I  am  in- 
clined, however,  to  believe  that  it  was  less  important  than  has 
been  commonly  supposed.  If  I  do  not  err,  the  Roman  pro- 
vinces differed  more  among  tiiemselves  than  did  the  nations 
which  had  conquered  them.  You  have  already  seen  how 
much  more  civilized  was  southern  than  northern  Gaul,  how 
nuch  more  thickly  covered  with  population,  towns,  tnonu- 
ments,  and  roads.  Had  the  Visigotlis  arrived  in  as  barbarous 
a  condition  as  that  of  the  Franks,  their  barbarism  would  yet 
have  been  far  less  visible  and  less  powerful  in  Gallia  Nar- 
bonensis  and  in  Aquitania ;  Roman  civilization  would  much 
sooner  have  absorbed  and  altered  them.  This,  I  believe,  is 
what  happened  ;  and  the  different  effects  which  accompanied 
the  three  conquests  resulted  ratiier  from  the  difTerences  of  the 
conquered  than  from  that  of  the  conquerors. 

Besides,  this  difference,  sensible  so  long  as  we  confine  our- 
selves to  a  very  general  view  of  things,  becomes  effaced,  or 
at  least  very  difficult  to  be  perceived,  when  we  go  farther  on 
with  the  study  of  the  society.  It  may  be  said  that  the  Franks 
were  more  barbarous  than  the  Visigoths  ;  but,  that  being  said, 
we  must  stop.  In  what  consisted  the  positive  difFerences  be- 
tween the  two  peoples,  in  institutions,  ideas,  and  relations  of 
classes?  No  precise  record  contains  an  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion. Finally,  the  difTerence  of  condition  in  the  provinces  of 
Gaul,  that  difference,  at  least,  which  was  referable  to  their 
n)asters,  soon  disappeared  or  became  greatly  lessened.  About 
the  year  534,  the  country  of  the  Burgundians  fell  under  the 
yoke  of  the  Franks ;  between  the  years  507  and  542,  that  of 
llie  Visigotlis  became  subject  to  nearly  the  same  fate.  In  the 
middle  of  the  sixth  century,  the  Frank  race  had  spread  itself 
and  obtained  dominion  throughout  Gaul.  The  Visigoths  stil' 
pcssesscd  a  part  of  Languedoc,  and  still  disputed  the  posses- 
si  hi  of  some  towns  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees;  but,  properly 
speaking,  Brittany  excepted,  the  whole  of  Gaul  was,  if  not 
governed,  at  least  overrun  by  the  Franks. 

Jt  is  wi'h  !he  Gaul  of  this  epoch  that  I  desire  to  make  yew 


170  HISTORY    OF 

acquainted  ;  it  is  the  slate  of  Gaul  about  the  last  half  of  iht 
sixth  century,  and,  above  all,  of  Frank ish  Gaul,  that  1  shall 
now  endeavor  to  describe.  Any  attempt  to  assign  a  more 
precise  date  to  this  description  would  be  vain  and  fertile  in 
errors.  No  doubt  there  was  still,  at  this  epoch,  much  varie  y 
in  the  condition  of  the  Gaulish  provinces;  but  I  shall  attempt 
to  estimate  it  no  farther,  remaining  satisfied  with  having 
warned  you  of  its  existence. 

It  seems  to  me  that  people  commonly  form  to  ihemsclves 
a  very  false  idea  of  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians,  and  of  the 
extent  and  rapidity  of  its  etiects.  You  have,  in  your  reading 
upon  this  subject,  often  met  with  the  words  inundtUion,  earth- 
quake, conjlugralion.  These  are  the  terms  which  have  been 
employed  to  characterize  this  revolution.  I  think  that  they 
are  deceptive,  that  they  in  no  way  represent  the  manner  in 
which  this  invasion  occurred,  nor  its  immediate  results.  Ex- 
aggeration is  natural  to  human  language  j  words  express  the 
impressions  which  man  receives  from  facts,  rather  than  the 
facts  themselves ;  it  is  after  having  passed  through  the  mind 
of  man,  and  according  to  the  impressions  which  they  have 
produced  thereupon,  that  facts  are  described  and  named. 
But  the  impression  is  never  the  complete  and  faitlifnl  image 
of  the  fact.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  individual,  which  the  fact 
is  not ;  great  events,  the  invasion  of  a  foreign  people,  for  in- 
stance, are  related  by  those  who  have  been  personally  affected, 
as  victims,  actors,  or  spectators  :  they  relate  the  event  as  they 
have  seen  it;  they  cliaracterize  it  according  to  what  they 
have  known  or  undergone.  He  who  has  seen  his  house  or 
his  village  burnt,  will,  perhaps,  call  the  invasion  a  conflagra- 
tion ;  to  the  thought  of  another,  it  will  be  found  arrayed  it 
the  form  of  a  deluge  or  an  earthquake.  These  iu)ages  art 
'rue,  but  are  of  a  truth  which,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  is 
full  of  prejudice  and  egoism  ;  they  re-produce  the  impressions 
of  some  few  men;  they  are  not  expressions  of  the  fact  in  its 
entire  extent,  nor  of  the  manner  in  which  it  impressed  the 
whole  of  the  country. 

Such,  moreover,  is  the  instinctive  poetry  of  ihe  humai. 
mind,  that  it  receives  from  facts  an  impression  which  is  live- 
lier and  greater  than  are  the  facts  themselves;  it  is  its  ten 
dency  to  extend  and  ennoble  them ;  they  are  for  it  bul 
matter  which  it  fashions  and  forms,  a  theme  upon  which  il 
pxercises  itself,  and  from  which  it  draws,  or  ratlu.r  over  whict 
't  spreads,  beauties  and  c filets  which  were  not  really  there 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  171 

T.ius,  a  double  and  contrary  cause  fills  language  with  illu- 
Bion ;  under  a  material  point  of  view,  facts  are  greater  than 
man,  and  he  perceives  and  describes  of  them  only  that  which 
strikes  him  personally;  under  the  moral  point  of  view,  man 
IS  greater  than  facts ;  and,  in  describing  them,  he  lends  thorn 
something  of  his  own  greatness. 

This  is  what  we  must  never  forget  in  studying  history, 
particularly  in  reading  contemporary  documents ;  they  are 
at  once  incomplete  and  exaggerated  ;  they  omit  and  amplify: 
wn  must  always  distrust  the  impression  conveyed  by  tliem, 
both  as  too  narrow  and  as  too  poetical;  we  must  both  add  to 
and  take  from  it.  Nowhere  does  this  double  error  appear 
more  strongly  than  in  the  narratives  of  the  Germanic  inva- 
sion ;  the  words  by  which  it  has  been  described  in  no  way 
represent  it. 

The  invasion,  or  rather,  the  invasions,  were  events  which 
were  essentially  partial,  local,  and  momentary.  A  band  ar- 
rived, usually  far  from  numerous  ;  the  most  powerful,  those 
who  founded  kingdoms,  as  the  band  of  Clovis,  scarcely  num- 
bered from  5,000  to  6,000  men;  the  entire  nation  of  the  Bur- 
gundians  did  not  exceed  60,000  men.  It  rapidly  over-ran  a 
limited  territory ;  ravaged  a  district ;  attacked  a  city,  and 
sometimes  retreated,  carrying  away  its  booty,  and  sometimes 
settled  somewhere,  always  careful  not  to  disperse  itself  too 
much.  We  know  with  what  facility  and  promptitude  such 
events  accomplish  themselves  and  disappear.  Houses  arc 
liurtif,  fields  arc  devastated,  crops  carried  off,  men  killed  or 
led  away  prisoners :  all  this  evil  over,  at  the  end  of  a  few 
days  the  waves  close,  the  ripple  subsides,  individual  sufferings 
are  forgotten,  society  returns,  at  least  in  appearance,  to  its 
former  state.  This  was  tho  condition  of  things  in  Gaul  dur- 
ing the  fourth  century. 

But  we  also  know  that  the  human  society,  that  society 
which  we  call  a  people,  is  not  a  simple  juxta-position  of  iso- 
lated and  fugitive  existence:  were  it  nothing  more,  the  inva- 
sions  of  the  barbarians  would  not  have  produced  the  impression 
which  the  documents  of  the  epoch  depict;  for  a  long  while 
the  number  of  places  and  men  that  suffered  therefrom  vvas 
far  inferior  to  the  number  of  those  who  escaped.  Bui  the 
social  life  of  each  man  is  not  concentrated  in  the  material 
space  which  is  its  theatre,  nor  in  the  passing  moment ;  it 
extends  itself  to  all  the  relations  which  he  has  contracted  upon 
.liferent  jwints  of  the  land ;   and  not  only  to  those   relations 


172  HISTORY    OF 

which  he  has  contracted,  but  also  to  those  whicfl  he  inigh 
contract,  or  can  even  conceive  the  possibility  of  contracting  j 
it  embraces  not  only  the  present,  but  the  future ;  man  lives 
in  a  thousand  spots  which  he  does  not  inhabit,  in  a  thousand 
moments  which,  as  yet,  are  not ;  and  if  this  development  of 
his  life  is  cut  otT  from  him,  if  he  is  forced  to  confine  him:fclf 
to  the  narrow  limits  of  his  material  and  actual  existence,  to 
isolate  himself  in  space  and  time,  social  life  is  mutilated,  and 
society  is  no  more. 

And  this  was  the  effect  of  the  invasions,  of  those  aj)pa- 
ritions  of  barbarous  hordes,  short,  it  is  true,  and  limited,  but 
reviving  without  cessation,  everywhere  possible,  and  always 
imminent :  they  destroyed,  1st,  all  regular,  habitual,  and  easy 
correspondence  between  the  various  parts  of  the  territory  ; 
2d,  all  security,  all  sure  prospect  of  the  future ;  they  broke 
the  ties  which  bound  together  the  inhabitants  of  the  same 
country,  the  moments  of  the  same  life ;  they  isolated  men, 
and  the  days  of  each  man.  In  many  places,  and  for  many 
years,  the  aspect  of  the  country  might  remain  the  same;  but 
the  social  organization  was  attacked,  the  members  no  longer 
held  together,  tlie  muscles  no  longer  played,  the  blood  no 
longer  circulated  freely  or  surely  in  the  veins:  the  disease 
appeared  sometimes  at  one  point,  sometimes  at  another :  a 
town  was  pillaged,  a  road  rendered  impassable,  a  bridge 
destroyed  ;  such  or  such  a  communication  ceased  ;  the  cul- 
ture of  tl  3  land  became  impossible  in  such  or  such  a  district: 
in  a  wora,  the  organic  harmony,  the  general  activity  o(  the 
social  body,  were  each  day  fettered  and  disturbed  j  each  day 
dissolution  and  paralysis  made  some  new  advance. 

Thus  was  Roman  society  destroyed  in  Gaul ;  not  as  a 
valley  is  ravaged  by  a  torrent,  but  as  the  most  solid  body  is 
disorganized  by  the  continual  iniiltratiun  of  u  (ureign  substance;. 
Between  all  the  members  of  the  state,  between  all  the  mo- 
ments of  the  life  of  each  man,  the  barbarians  continually  in- 
truded themselves.  I  lately  endeavored  to  paint  to  you  the 
dismemberment  of  the  Roman  empire,  the  impossibility  undei 
which  its  masters  found  themselves  of  holding  together  the 
different  parts,  and  how  the  imperial  administration  waa 
obliged  to  retire  spontaneously  from  Britain,  from  Gaul, 
incapable  of  resisting  the  dissolution  of  that  vast  body. 
What  occurred  in  the  Empire  occurred  equally  in  each  pro. 
vince  ;  as  the  Empire  had  suffered  disorganization,  so  did  each 
province ;  the  cantons,  tlie   towns  detached   themselves,  anJ 


CIVILIZATION     IN     FRANCE.  178 

returned  to  a  local  and  isolated  existence.  The  invasiou 
operated  everywhere  in  the  same  nuinncr,  and  everywhere 
produced  the  same  eflects.  All  the  ties  by  which  Rome  had 
been  enabled,  after  so  many  efforts,  to  combine  together  the 
differeii',  parts  of  the  world;  that  great  system  of  administra- 
tion, of  imposts,  of  recruiting,  of  public  works,  of  roads,  had 
not  been  able  to  support  itself.  There  remained  of  it  nothing 
but  what  could  subsist  in  an  isolated  and  local  condition,  that 
is  to  say,  nothing  but  the  wrecks  of  the  municipal  systeni. 
The  inhabitants  shut  themselves  up  in  the  towns,  where  they 
continued  to  govern  themselves  nearly  as  they  had  done  ol 
old,  with  the  same  rights,  by  the  same  institutions.  A  thou- 
sand circumstances  prove  this  concentration  of  society  in 
towns;  here  is  one  which  has  been  little  noticed.  Under  the 
Roman  administration,  it  is  tlie  governors  of  provinces,  the 
consuls,  the  correctors,  the  presidents  who  fill  the  scene,  and 
reappear  continually  in  the  laws  and  history  ;  in  the  sixth 
century,  their  names  become  much  more  rare  ;  wc,  indeed, 
still  meet  with  dukes  and  counts,  to  whom  the  government  of 
the  provinces  was  confided ;  the  barbarian  kings  strove  to 
inherit  the  Roman  adnnnistration,  to  preserve  the  same  officers, 
and  to  induce  their  power  to  flow  in  the  same  channels;  but 
they  succeeded  only  very  incompletely,  and  with  great  dis- 
order;  their  dukes  were  rather  military  chiefs  than  adminis- 
trators; it  is  manifest  that  the  governors  of  provinces  had  no 
longer  the  same  importance,  and  no  longer  played  the  same 
part ;  the  governors  of  towns  now  filled  history  ;  the  majority 
of  these  counts  of  Chilperic,  of  Gontran,  of  Thcodebert, 
whose  exactions  are  related  by  Gregory  of  Tours,  are  counts 
of  towns  established  within  their  walls,  and  by  the  side  of 
their  bishop.  I  should  exaggerate  were  I  to  say  that  the 
province  disappeared,  but  it  became  disorganized,  and  lost  all 
consistency,  and  almost  all  reality.  The  towns,  the  primitive 
elements  of  the  Roman  world,  survived  almost  alone  amidst 
its  ruin.  The  rural  districts  became  the  prey  of  the  barba 
nans  ;  it  was  there  that  they  established  themselves  with  their 
men  ;  it  was  there  that  they  were  about  to  introduce  by 
degrees  totally  new  institutions,  and  a  new  organization,  but 
till  then  the  rural  districts  will  occupy  scarcely  any  place  in 
society ;  they  will  be  but  the  theatre  of  excursions,  pillages, 
bind  misery. 

Even   within   the  towns  the  ancient  society  was  far  Iroir 
maintaining  itself  strong  and  entire.     Amidst  the  inovenjen 


174  UlSTOKY    OF 

of  the  invasions,  the  towns  were  regarded  above  all  as  for. 
tresses  ;  the  population  sliut  themselves  therein  to  eseape 
from  the  hordes  which  ravaged  the  country.  Wlien  the  bar- 
barous immigration  was  somewhat  diminished,  when  the  new 
people  had  planted  themselves  upon  the  territory,  tlie  towns 
still  remained  fortresses:  in  place  of  having  to  defend  them- 
selves against  the  wandering  hordes,  they  had  to  defend  tliem- 
selves  against  their  neighbors,  against  the  greedy  and  tur. 
bulent  possessors  of  the  surrounding  country.  There  was 
therefore  little  security  behind  those  weak  ramparts.  Towns 
are  unquestionably  centres  of  population  and  of  labor, 
but  under  certain  conditions  ;  under  the  condition,  on  the 
one  hand,  that  the  country  population  cultivate  for  them  ;  on 
♦.lie  other,  that  an  extended  and  active  commerce  consume  the 
products  of  the  citizens'  labor.  If  agriculture  and  commerce 
decay,  towns  must  decay  ;  their  prosperity  and  their  power 
cannot  be  isolated.  Now  you  iiave  just  seen  into  wiiat 
a  condition  the  rural  districts  of  Gaul  iiad  fallen  in  the  sixth 
century  ;  the  towns  were  able  to  (;scape  fur  some  time,  but 
from  day  to  day  the  evil  threatened  to  conquer  them.  Finally, 
it  did  conquer  them,  and  very  soon  this  last  wreck  of  the 
Empire  seemed  stricken  with  the  same  weakness,  and  a  prey 
to  the  same  dissolution. 

Such,  in  the  sixth  century,  were  the  general  effects  of  the 
Invasion  and  establishment  of  the  barbarians  upon  Roman 
society  ;  that  was  the  condition  in  which  they  had  placed  it. 
Let  us  now  inquire,  what  was  the  consequence  of  these  facts, 
with  i'egard  to  the  second  element  of  modern  civilization,  tiie 
German  society  itself? 

A,  great  mistake  lies  at  the  bottom  of  most  of  the  researches 
which  have  bean  made  upon  this  subject.  The  institutions 
of  the  Germans  have  been  studied  in  Germany,  and  then  trans- 
ported just  as  they  were  into  Gaul,  in  the  train  of  the  Ger- 
mans. It  has  been  assumed  that  the  German  society  was  in 
much  the  same  condition  after  as  before  the  conquest ;  and 
persons  have  reasoned  from  this  pistulate  in  determining  the 
influence  of  the  conquest,  and  in  assigning  to  it  its  part  in  the 
development  of  modern  civilization.  Nothing  can  be  moie 
false  and  more  deceptive.  The  German  society  was  modified, 
lefaced,  dissolved,  by  the  invasion,  no  less  than  the  Roman 
society.  In  tliis  great  commotion  a  wreck  was  all  thai 
remained  to  each  ;  the  social  organization  of  the  conquerors 
iKidshed  like  tliat  of  the  conquered. 


CIVILIZATION     IN    FHANCE. 


175 


Two  societies — at  bottom  perhaps  more  like  eiicn  other  than 
has  been  supposed,  distinct,  nevertheless — subsisted  in  Ger- 
many  :  first,  the  society  of  the  colony  or  tribe,  tcufiing  to  a 
Bedcntary  condition,  and  existing  upon  a  limited  territory 
which  it  cultivated  by  means  of  laborers  and  slaves;  second, 
♦he  society  of  the  warfaring  horde,  accidentally  grouped  around 
some  famous  chief,  and  leading  a  wandering  life.  This  mani- 
festly results  from  the  facts  which  I  have  already  described 
to  you. 

To  the  first  of  these  two  societies^  to  the  tribes,  arc,  in  a 
certain  measure,  appl  icable  those  descriptions  of  the  condition  ol 
the  ancient  Germans  by  modern  Germans,  concerning  wnich  I 
have  already  spoken.  When,  in  fact,  a  tribe,  small  in  number 
ns  were  all  the  tribes,  occupied  a  limited  territory  ;  when  each 
head  of  a  family  was  established  upon  his  domain,  in  the  midst 
of  his  people,  the  soci  il  organization  which  has  been  described 
by  these  writers  might  well  exist,  if  not  completely  and 
effectively,  at  least  in  the  rough  sketch  ;  the  assembly  of  pro- 
prietors, of  heads  of  families,  decided  upon  all  matters;  each 
horde  had  its  own  assembly  ;  justice  was  dispensed  to  them  by 
the  freemen  themselves,  under  the  direction  of  the  aged  ; 
a  kind  of  public  polity  might  arise  between  the  confederate 
hordes  ;  free  institutions  were  then  under  the  form  in  which 
we  meet  them  in  the  infancy  of  nations. 

The  organization  of  the  warfaring  band  was  different  ; 
another  principle  presided  in  it,  the  principle  of  the  patronage 
of  the  chief,  of  aristocratic  clientship,  and  military  subordina- 
tion. It  is  with  regret  that  I  make  use  of  these  last  words  ; 
they  an  ill  suited  to  barbarian  hordes  ;  yet,  however 
barbarian  men  may  be,  a  kind  of  discipline  necessarily  in- 
troduces itself  between  the  chief  and  his  warriors;  and  in 
this  case  there  must  assuredly  exist  more  arbitrary  authority, 
more  forced  obedience,  than  in  associations  which  have  not 
war  for  their  object.  The  German  warfaring  band  therefore 
contained  a  political  element  that  was  not  possessed  by  the 
tribe.  At  the  same  time,  however,  its  freedom  was  great :  no 
Tfian  engaged  therein  against  his  will  ;  the  German  was  boni 
within  his  tribe,  and  thus  belonged  to  a  situation  which  was 
lot  one  of  his  choice ;  the  warrior  chose  his  chief  and  his 
companions,  and  undertook  nothing  but  with  the  consent  of 
n's  own  free  will.  Besides,  in  the  bosom  of  the  warfaring 
band,  the  inequality  was  not  great  between  the  chiefs  and 
iheir  men  ;  there  was  nothing  more  than  the  natural  inequalir.j 


I7fl  HISTORY    OF 

of  ntrengtli,  skill,  or  courage  ;  an  inequality  which  afterwardi 
becomes  fruitful,  and  which  produces  sooner  or  later  immense 
results,  but  which,  at  the  outset  of  society,  displays  itsell 
only  in  very  narrow  limits.  Although  the  chief  had  the 
largest  share  of  the  booty,  although  he  possessed  more  horses 
and  mere  arms,  he  was  not  so  superior  in  riches  to  his  com- 
panions  as  to  be  able  to  dispose  of  them  without  their  con- 
sent ;  each  warrior  entered  the  association  with  his  strengtii 
and  his  courage,  differing  very  little  from  the  others,  and  at 
liberty  to  leave  it  whenever  he  pleased. 

Such  were  the  two  primitive  German  societies  :  what  did 
they  become  by  the  fact  of  the  invasion  ?  what  change 
did  it  necessarily  work  upon  them  ?  By  ascertaining  tiiis 
alone  it  is  that  we  can  learn  what  German  society  truly  was 
after  its  transplantation  to  the  Roman  soil. 

The  characteristic  fact,  the  grand  result  of  the  invasion,  as 
regards  the  Germans,  was  tiieir  change  to  the  condition  of 
proprietors,  the  cessation  of  the  wandering  life,  and  the  defi- 
nitive establishment  of  the  agricultural  life. 

Tiiis  fact  accomplished  itself  gradually,  slowly,  and  un- 
equally ;  the  wandering  life  continued  for  a  long  time  in  Gaul, 
at  least  it  so  continued  for  a  great  number  of  the  Germans. 
Nevertheless,  when  we  have  estimated  all  these  delays  and 
disorders,  we  see  that,  in  the  end,  the  conquerors  became  pro- 
prietors, that  they  attached  themselves  to  the  soil,  that  landed 
property  was  the  essential  element  of  the  new  social  state. 

What  were  the  consequences  of  this  single  fact,  as  regards 
ihe  regulation  of  the  warfaring  band  and  of  the  tribe  ? 

As  to  the  tribe,  remember  what  I  have  told  you  of  tlie 
manner  of  its  territorial  establishment  in  Germany,  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  villages  were  constructed  and  disposed. 
The  population  was  not  condensed  therein  ;  each  family,  each 
habitation  was  isolated  and  surrounded  with  a  plot  of  culti- 
vated ground.  It  is  thus  that  nations,  who  have  only 
arrived  at  this  degree  of  civilization,  arrange  themselves, 
even  when  they  lead  a  sedentary  life. 

When  the  tribe  was  transplanted  to  the  soil  of  Gaul,  th^ 
habitations  became  yet  further  dispersed  ;  the  chiefs  of  families 
E.stablished  themselves  at  a  much  greater  distance  from  one 
another  ;  they  occupied  vast  domains  ;  their  houses  afterwards 
became  castle?.  The  villages  which  formed  themselves  around 
tliem  were  no  longer  peopled  with  men  who  were  free,  who 
were  their  equals,  but  with  laborers  who  were  attached  U) 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  177 

Uieir  lands.  Thus,  in  its  material  relations,  1  Je  triho  became 
dissolved  by  the  single  fact  of  its  new  establishment. 

You  may  easily  guess  what  effect  this  single  change  was 
calculated  to  exert  upon  its  institutions.  Tlie  assembly  of  free- 
men, wherein  all  things  were  debated,  was  now  got  together 
with  much  greater  difficulty.  So  long  a.^  they  iiad  lived 
fiear  to  one  another,  there  was  no  need  of  any  great  art,  or 
wise  combinations,  in  order  that  they  migiit  treat  in  common  of 
their  afl'airs  ;  but  when  a  population  is  scattered,  in  or  !er  that 
Ihe  principles  and  forms  of  free  institutions  may  remain 
applicable  to  it,  great  social  development  is  necessary,  riches, 
intelligence,  in  short,  a  thousand  things  are  necessary,  which 
were  wanting  to  the  German  horde,  transported  suddenly 
to  a  territory  far  more  extensive  tlian  thai  which  il 
had  hitherto  occupied.  The  system  which  regulated  its 
existence  in  Germany  now  perished.  In  looking  over  the 
most  ancient  German  laws — those  of  the  Allemanni,  Boii, 
and  Franks — we  see  that,  originally,  the  assembly  of  freemen 
in  each  district  was  hold  very  frequently,  at  first,  every  week, 
and  afterwards,  every  month.  All  questions  were  carried 
before  it ;  judgments  were  given  there,  and  not  only  criminal, 
but  also  civil  judgments  :  almost  all  acts  of  civil  life  were 
done  in  its  presence,  as  sales,  donations,  &c.  When  once  the 
tribe  was  established  in  Gaul,  the  assemblies  became  rare  and 
difficult ;  so  difficult,  that  it  was  necessary  to  employ  force 
to  make  the  freemen  attend  :  this  is  the  object  of  many 
legal  decrees.  And  if  you  pass  suddenly  from  the  fourth 
to  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century,  you  find  that  at  this  last 
epoch  there  were  in  each  county  but  three  assemblies  of  free- 
men in  the  year :  and  these  not  regularly  kept,  as  is  proved 
by  some  of  Charlemagne's  laws. 

If  other  proofs  were  necessary,  here  is  one  which  deserves 
to  be  noticed.  When  the  assemblies  were  frequent,  freemen, 
under  the  name  of  rachimburgi,  arhimanni,  honi  homines, 
and  in  various  forms,  decided  upon  affairs.  When  they  no 
longer  attended,  it  became  necessary,  upon  urgent  occasions, 
(o  supply  their  places  ;  and  thus  we  see,  at  tiie  end  of  the 
eijrhth  century,  the  freemen  replaced  in  judicial  functions  b; 
permanent  juJges.  The  scahini,  or  sherifis  of  Charlemagne, 
were  regular  judges.  In  each  county,  five,  seven,  or  nine  free- 
rrien  were  appointed  by  the  count,  or  other  local  magistrate, 
and  charged  to  present  themselves  at  the  assembly  of  the 
cotmlry  to  decide    upon  cases.     The   primitive    institution/ 


178  HISTORY    OF 

were  become  impracticable,  and  the  judiciul  power  patsea 
from  the  people  to  the  magistrates. 

Such  was  the  state  into  whicii  the  first  element  of  German 
society,  the  colony  or  tribe,  fell  after  the  invasion  and  untlt-r 
its  influence.  Politically  speaking,  it  was  disorganized,  a^ 
Roman  society  had  been.  As  to  the  warfaring  band,  facia 
accomplished  themselves  in  another  way,  and  under  a  diftereiit 
form,  but  with  the  same  results. 

When  a  band  arrived  anywhere,  and  took  possession  of  th(! 
land,  or  of  a  portion  of  it,  we  must  not  believe  that  this  occu- 
pation took  place  systematically,  or  that  the  territory  wan 
divided  by  lots,  and  that  each  warrior  received  one. 
proportionate  to  his  importance  or  his  rank.  The  ciiief: 
of  the  band,  or  the  different  chiefs  wlio  were  united  in  it, 
appropriated  to  themselves  vast  domains.  The  greater  part 
of  the  warriors  who  had  followed  them  continued  to  live 
around  them,  with  them,  and  at  their  table,  without  possessing 
any  property  which  belonged  especially  to  them.  Tiie  band 
did  not  dissolve  into  individuals  of  whom  each  became  a  pro- 
prietor ;  the  most  considerable  warriors  entered  almost  alone 
into  this  situation.  Had  they  dispersed  themselves,  in  order 
that  each  one  might  establish  himself  upon  a  spot  of  the 
territory,  their  safety  amidst  tlie  original  population  would 
have  been  compromised  ;  it  was  necessary  that  they  should 
remain  united  in  groups.  Moreover,  it  was  by  the  life  in 
common  that  the  pleasures  of  the  barbarians,  gaming,  the 
chase,  and  banquets,  could  alone  subsist.  How  could  tiiey 
have  resigned  themselves  to  isolation  ?  Isolation  is  only 
supportable  in  a  laborious  condition  ;  man  cannot  remain  idle 
and  alone.  Now,  tlie  barbarians  were  essentially  itlle  ;  tlity 
therefore  required  to  live  together,  and  many  companions 
remained  about  their  chief,  leading  upon  his  domains  pretty 
nearly  the  same  life  which  they  had  led  before  in  his  train. 
But  from  these  circumstances  it  arose  that  their  relative 
situation  was  completely  altered.  Very  soon  a  prodigious 
inequality  sprang  up  between  them  :  their  inequality  no  longer 
consisted  in  some  personal  difference  of  strength  or  of  courage, 
or  in  a  more  or  less  considerable  share  of  cattle,  slaves,  or 
valuable  goods.  The  chief,  become  a  great  proprietor,  dis- 
posed  of  many  of  the  means  of  power  ;  the  others  were  alwaya 
simple  warriors  ;  and  the  more  the  ideas  of  property  established 
and  extended  themselves  in  men's  minds,  the  more  was  in- 
aquality    with  its  efiects,  developed.     At  this  period  we  find 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  170 

a  zreat  number  of  freemen  fiilling  by  degrees  into  a  very 
in  (Prior  position.  Tiie  laws  speak  constantly  of  freemen,  ot 
F.anks,  living  upon  the  lands  of  another,  and  reduced  almost 
to  the  situation  of  the  laborers."  The  band,  regarded  as  a 
peculiar  society,  reposed  upon  two  facts — the  voluntary  asso- 
ciaiion  of  the  warriors  in  order  to  lead  in  common  a  wander- 
ing life,  and  their  equality.  These  two  facts  perished  in  the 
results  of  the  invasion.  On  one  hand,  the  wandering  life 
ended — on  the  other,  inequality  introduced  itself,  and  in- 
creased  from  day  to  day,  among  the  sedentary  warriors. 

The  progressive  parcelling  out  of  lands,  during  the  three 
centuries  after  the  invasion,  did  not  change  this  result. 
There  are  none  of  you  who  have  not  heard  of  the  fees 
that  the  king,  or  the  great  chiefs  who  occupied  a  vast 
territory,  distributed  to  their  men,  to  attach  them  to  their 
service,  or  to  recompense  them  for  services  done.  This 
practice,  in  proportion  as  it  extended,  produced,  upon  what 
remained  of  the  warfaring  band,  effects  analogous  to  those 
which  I  have  pointed  out  to  you.  On  one  hand,  the 
warrior  upon  whom  the  chief  had  conferred  the  fee,  de 
parted  to  inhabit  it, — a  new  source  of  isolation  and  indivi- 
duality ;  on  the  other,  this  warrior  had  usually  a  certain  num- 
ber of  men  attached  to  him  ;  or  he  sought  and  found  men  who 
would  come  to  live  with  him  upon  his  domain  ; — a  new  source 
of  inequality.  Such  were  the  general  effects  of  the  invasion 
upon  the  two  ancient  Germanic  societies,  the  tribe  and  the 
wandering  band.  They  became  equally  disorganized,  and 
entered  upon  totally  different  situations,  upon  totally  new 
relations.  In  order  to  bind  them  among  themselves  anew, 
in  order  to  form  society  anew,  and  to  deduce  from  that  society 
a  government,  it  became  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  other 
principles,  to  other  institutions.  Dissolved,  like  Roman 
society,  German  society,  in  like  manner,  furnished  to  the 
society  which  followed  it  nothing  but  weeks. 

I  hope  that  these  expressions,  society  (Ussolved,  society  wlvch 
verished,  do  not  mislead  you,  and  that  you  understand  them 
in  their  right  sense.  A  society  never  dissolves  itself,  bui 
because  a  new  society  is  fermenting  and  forming  in  its 
oosoni ;  the  concealed  work  it  is  there  going  on  which  tends 
o  separate  its  elements,  in  order  to  arrange  them  under  new 


1  Essais  sur  I'Histoire  de  France,  pp.  109—111 
82 


ISO  HISTORY   OF 

combinations.  Such  a  disorganization  shows  that  facts  are 
changed,  that  the  relations  and  dispositions  of  men  are  no 
longer  the  same  ;  that  other  principles  and  other  forms  are 
ready  to  assume  the  predominance.  Thus,  in  affirming  that 
in  the  sixth  century,  ancient  society,  Roman  as  well  as  Ger- 
man, was  dis.solved  in  Gaul  by  the  results  of  the  invasion,  we 
say  that,  by  the  same  causes,  at  the  same  epoch,  and  upon 
the  same  ground,  modern  society  began. 

We  have  no  means  of  explaining  or  clearly  contemplating 
this  first  labor;  the  original  sources,  the  original  creation,  is 
profoundly  concealed,  and  does  not  manifest  itself  outwardly 
until  later,  when  it  has  already  made  considerable  progress. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  possible  to  foresee  it ;  and  it  is  important 
that  you  should  know,  at  once,  what  was  fermenting  and 
being  formed  beneath  this  general  dissolution  of  the  two 
elements  of  modern  society  ;  1  will  endeavor  to  give  you  an 
idea  of  this  in  kw  words. 

The  first  fact  of  which  we  catch  a  glimpse  at  this  period, 
is  a  certain  tendency  to  the  development  of  royalty.  Persons 
have  often  praised  barbarian  at  the  expense  of  modern  royalty, 
wrongfully,  as  I  think  :  in  the  fourth  and  in  the  seventeenth 
centuries  this  word  expresses  two  institutions,  two  powers 
which  are  profoundly  different  from  each  otiier.  There 
were,  indeed,  among  the  barbarians,  some  germs  of  hereditary 
royalty,  some  traces  of  a  religious  character  inherent  in  cer- 
tain families  descended  from  the  first  chiefs  of  the  nations, 
from  heroes  become  gods.  There  can,  however,  be  no  doubt 
but  that  choice,  election,  was  the  principal  source  of  royalty, 
and  that  the  character  of  warlike  chiefs  predominates  in  the 
barbarous  kings. 

When  they  were  transplanted  to  the  Roman  territory,  their 
situation  changed.  They  found  there  a  place  which  was 
empty,  namely,  that  of  the  emperors.  Power,  titles,  and  a 
machine  of  government  with  which  the  barbarians  were 
acquainted,  and  of  which  they  admired  the  splendor  and  soon 
Oj)preciated  the  efficacy,  were  there  ;  they  were,  of  course, 
strongly  tempted  to  appropriate  these  advantages.  Such, 
indeed,  was  the  aim  of  all  their  efforts.  This  fact  appears 
avery where:  Clovis,  Childebert,  Gontran,  Chilperic,  Ootaire, 
labored  incessantly  to  assume  the  names  and  to  exercise  the 
rights  of  the  Empire  ;  they  wished  to  distribute  their  dukes 
and  their  counts  as  the  emperors  had  distributed  their  coii- 
aiila,  their  correctors,  and  their  presidents ;  they  tried   o  ro. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  191 

establish  all  that  system  of  taxes,  enlistment,  and  administra. 
tioii,  whicli  had  fallen  into  ruin.  In  a  word,  barbaric  royalty; 
narrow  and  crude  as  it  was,  endeavored  to  develope  itself,  and 
fill,  in  some  measure,  the  enormous  frame  of  imperial  royaltyi 
For  a  long  while  the  course  of  things  was  not  favorable  to 
it,  and  its  first  attempts  were  attended  with  little  success; 
nevertheless,  we  may  see,  from  the  beginning,  that  something 
of  the  imperial  royalty  will  remain  to  it  j  that  the  new 
royalty  will  by  and  bye  gather  a  portion  of  that  imperial 
inheritance,  the  whole  of  which  it  desired  to  appropriate  at 
the  first ;  immediately  after  the  invasion,  it  became  less  war- 
like, more  religious,  and  more  politic  than  it  had  hitherto  been, 
that  is  to  say,  it  assumed  more  of  the  character  of  the  imperial 
royalty.  Here,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  first  great  fact  of  that 
labor  which  was  about  to  give  birth  to  the  new  Society  ;  that 
fact  is  not  clearly  manifest  as  yet,  but  glimpses  of  it  are  easily 
to  be  caught. 

The  second  great  fact  is  the  birth  of  the  territorial  aris- 
tocracy. Property,  for  a  long  time  after  the  settlement  of 
the  barbarians,  seemed  uncertain,  fluctuating  and  confused, 
passing  from  one  hand  to  another  with  surprising  rapidity. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  clear  that  it  prepared  to  become  fixed  in 
the  same  hands,  and  to  regulate  itself.  The  tendency  of 
fees  is  to  become  hereditary  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  obstacles 
which  oppose  it,  the  principle  of  inheritance  prevails  therein 
more  and  more.  At  the  same  time  there  arose  between  the 
possessors  of  the  foes  that  hierarchical  organization  which 
afterwards  became  the  feudal  system.  We  must  not  trans- 
port  into  the  sixth  and  seventh  centuries  the  feudalism  of  the 
thirteenth  ;  nothing  like  it  then  existed  ;  the  disorder  of  pro- 
perty and  personal  relations  was  infinitely  greater  than  under 
the  feudal  system  ;  nevertheless  all  things  concurred,  on  the 
one  hand,  to  render  property  fixed  ;  on  the  other,  to  constitute 
the  society  of  the  proprietors  according  to  a  certain  hierarchy. 
As  we  have  seen  royalty  dawning  from  the  end  of  the  sixth 
century,  so  likewise,  we  may  discover,  from  that  period,  the 
dawn  of  feudalism. 

Finally,  a  third  fact  also  developed  itself  at  this  epoch.  I 
have  engaged  your  attention  with  the  state  of  the  church  ; 
you  have  seen  what  power  it  had,  and  how  it  was,  so  to 
speak,  the  sole  living  remnant  of  Roman  society.  When  the 
barbarians  were  established,  let  us  see  in  what  situation  the 
pliurch  found  itself,  or,  at  least,  what  that  situation  soon  boi 


182  HISTORY    OF 

came.  The  bishops  were,  as  you  know,  ihe  natural  chiefs  of 
the  towns;  they  governed  the  people  in  the  interior  of  each 
city,  they  represented  them  in  the  presence  of  the  barbarians, 
they  were  their  magistrates  within,  and  their  protectors 
without.  The  clergy  were  therefore  deeply  rooted  in  the 
municipal  system,  that  is  to  say,  in  all  that  remained  of 
Roman  society.  And  they  very  soon  struck  root  in  other 
directions;  the  bishops  became  the  counsellors  of  the  barbarous 
kings;  they  counselled  them  upon  tiie  Cv./iiduct  whicii  they 
OUfJit  to  observe  towards  tiie  vanquisiicd  people,  upon  the 
course  they  ought  to  take  in  order  to  become  the  heirs  of 
the  Roman  emperors.  They  had  far  more  experience  and 
political  intelligence  than  the  barbarians,  who  came  fresh 
from  Germany  ;  they  had  the  love  of  power,  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  serve  and  to  profit  by  it.  They  were  thus  the 
counsellors  of  the  nascent  royalty,  while  they  remained  the 
magistrates  and  patrons  of  the  still  surviving  municipality. 

Behold  them  connected  on  the  one  hand  with  the  people,  on 
the  other  witii  thrones.  But  this  was  not  all;  a  third  position 
now  opened  itself  to  them  ;  they  became  great  proprietors ; 
they  entered  into  that  hierarchical  organization  of  manorial 
property  which,  as  yet,  scarcely  existed  but  in  tendency  ;  they 
labored  to  occupy,  and  soon  succeeded  in  occupying,  a  con- 
siderable place  therein.  So  that  at  this  epoch,  while  yet  the 
new  society  was  in  its  first  rudiments,  the  church  was  already 
connected  with  all  its  parts,  was  everywhere  in  good  repute 
and  powerful ;  a  sure  sign  that  it  would  be  the  first  to  attain 
dominion  ;  as  happened. 

Such  were  the  three  great  facts — obscure  as  yet,  but  visible — 
by  which  the  new  .social  order  announced  itself,  at  tlie  end  of 
the  sixth  and  the  beginning  of  the  seventh  century.  It  is,  1 
believe,  impossible  to  mistake  them  ;  but,  in  recognizing  tiiem, 
we  must  remember  that  neither  of  them  had  as  yet  taken  the 
position  and  the  form  which  it  was  to  retain.  All  things 
were  still  mixed  and  confused  to  such  a  degree,  that  it 
must  have  been  impossible  for  the  shrewdest  sight  to  have 
discerned  any  of  the  characteristics  of  the  future.  1  have 
already  had  occasion  to  say,  and  in  your  studies  you  have 
had  opportunities  of  becoming  convinced,  that  there  exists 
no  modern  system,  no  pretension  to  power,  which  has  not 
discovered  grounds  for  its  legitimacy  in  these  beginnings  of 
our  society.  Royalty  regards  itself  as  the  only  heir  of  the 
Roman  empire.     The  feudal  aristocracy  asserts  that,  at  thai 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  188 

time,  it  possessed  the  entire  country,  men  and  lands  ;  the 
towns  affirm  that  they  succeeded  to  all  the  rights  of  the 
Roman  municipi  lities ;  the  clergy,  that  they  then  shared 
nil  power.  This  singular  epoch  has  lent  itself  to  all  the  re- 
quirements of  party  spirit,  to  all  the  hypotheses  of  science  ;  it 
has  furnished  arguments  and  arms  to  nations,  to  kings,  to 
grandees,  to  priests,  to  liberty  as  well  as  to  aristocracy,  to 
aristocracy  as  well  as  to  royalty. 

The  fact  is,  it  carried  all  things  in  its  bosom,  theocracy, 
monarchy,  oligarchy,  republics,  mixed  constitutions ;  and  all 
things  in  a  state  of  confusion  which  has  allowed  each  to  see 
all  that  it  chose  to  see  therein.  The  obscure  and  irregular 
fermentation  of  the  wrecks  of  former  society,  German  as  well 
as  Roman,  and  the  first  labors  of  their  transformation  into 
elements  of  the  new  society,  constituted  the  true  condition  of 
Gaul  during  the  sixth  and  seventh  centuries,  and  this  is  the 
only  character  we  can  assign  to  it. 


iS-f  UlSTOKY    (« 


NINTH  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — False  idea  of  the  Salic  law — History  of  the 
formation  of  this  law — Two  hypotheses  upon  this  n»atter — Eighteen 
manuscripts — Two  texts  of  the  Salic  law — M.  Wiarda's  work  upon 
the  history  and  exposition  of  the  Salic  law — Prefaces  attached  to  the 
manuscripts — Value  of  national  traditions  concerniuK  the  origin  and 
compilation  of  the  Salic  law — Concerning  its  tendencies — It  is  essen- 
tially a  penal  code — 1st.  Of  the  enumeration  and  definition  of  of- 
fences in  the  Salic  law ;  2d.  Of  penalties ;  3d.  Of  criminal  proce 
dure — Transitory  character  of  this  legislation. 

We  are  to  occupy  ourselves  now  with  tlie  barbarian  laws, 
and  especially  with  the  Salic  law,  upon  which  I  nutst  give 
certain  niinulo  details,  indispensable  to  a  knowledge  of  the  truo 
character  of  this  law,  and  of  the  social  slate  which  is  indicated 
thereby.  People  have  been  deeply,  and  for  a  long  while, 
deceived  upon  this  point.  A  greatly  exaggerated  importance 
has  been  attributed  to  the  Salic  law.  You  are  accpiainted 
with  the  reason  of  this  error  ;  you  know  that  at  the  accession 
of  Philippe-le-Long,  and  during  the  struggle  of  Philippe-de- 
Valois  and  Edward  III.  for  the  crown  of  France,  the  Salic 
law  was  invoked  in  order  to  prevent  the  succession  of  women, 
and  that,  from  that  time,  it  has  been  celebrated  by  a  crowd 
of  writers,  as  the  first  source  of  our  public  law,  as  a  law 
always  in  vigor,  as  the  fundamental  law  of  njonarchy. 
Those  who  have  been  the  most  free  from  this  illusion,  as,  for 
example,  Montesquieu,  have  yet  experienced,  to  some  degree, 
its  influence,  and  have  spoken  of  the  Salic  law  wiih  a  respect 
which  it  is  assuredly  difficult  to  feel  towards  it  wlien  we  attri- 
bute to  it  only  the  place  that  it  really  holds  in  our  history. 
We  might  be  tempted  ti)  believe  that  the  majority  of  the 
writers  who  have  spoken  of  this  law  had  studied  neither  its 
history  nor  its  scope  ;  that  they  were  equally  ignorant  of  its 
source  and  of  its  character.  These  are  the  two  questions 
which  we  have  now  to  solve  :  we  must  learn,  on  the  one  hand, 
.i\  what  manner  the  Salic  law  was  compiled,  when,  where,  by 
whom,  and  for  whom ;  on  the  other,  what  the  object  and  plan 
jf  its  dispositions  were. 


CIVILIZATION    in    FRA-iCE.  185 

As  regards  its  history,  I  pray  you  to  recall  that  which  I 
have  already  told  you  touching  the  double  origin  and  the  in- 
coherence  of  the  barbarous  laws;  they  were,  at  once,  anterior 
and  posterior  to  the  invasion  ;  at  once,  German,  and  Gcrmano- 
Roman  :  they  belonged  to  two  diflcrent  conditions  of  society. 
This  character  has  influenced  all  the  controversies  of  which 
the  Salic  law  has  been  the  object ;  it  has  given  rise  to  two 
hypotheses  :  according  to  one,  this  law  was  compiled  in  Ger. 
many,  upon  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine,  long  before  the 
conquest,  and  in  the  language  of  the  Franks ;  everything  in  its 
provisions  which  is  not  suitable  to  that  period,  and  to  ancient 
German  society,  according  to  this  hypothesis,  was  intraduced 
afterwards,  in  the  successive  revisions  which  occurred  after 
the  ii  vasion.  According  to  the  other  hypothesis,  the  Salic 
law  was,  on  the  contrary,  compiled  after  tlie  conquest,  upon 
the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine,  in  Belgium  or  in  Gaul,  perhaps  in 
the  seventh  century,  and  in  Latin. 

Nothing  is  more  natural  than  the  conflict  of  these  hypo- 
theses ;  tliey  necessarily  arose  from  the  Salic  law  itself.  A 
peculiar  circumstance  tended  to  provoke  them. 

In  the  manuscripts  which  remain  to  us,  there  are  two  texts 
of  this  law  :  the  one  unmixedly  Latin  ;  the  other  Latin  also, 
but  mixed  with  a  great  number  of  German  words,  of  glosses, 
and  of  expositions,  in  the  ancient  Prankish  tongue,  interca- 
lated in  the  course  of  the  articles.  It  contains  two  hundred 
and  fifty-three  intercalations  of  this  kind.  The  second  text 
was  published  at  Basil,  in  1557,  by  the  jurisconsult,  John 
Ilerold,  from  a  manuscript  in  the  Abbey  of  Fulda.  The 
purely  Latin  text  was  published,  for  the  first  time,  in  Paris, 
without  date,  or  the  name  of  the  editor ;  and,  for  the  second 
time,  by  John  Dutillet,  also  in  Paris,  in  1573.  Both  texts 
have  since  gone  through  many  editions. 

Of  these  two  texts  there  exist  eighteen  manuscripts'— 
namely,  fifteen  of  the  unmixed  Latin  text,  and  three  of  that 
in  which  Germanic  words  appear.  Of  these  manuscripts, 
fifteen  have  been  found  upon  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine,  in 
France,  and  only  three  in  Germany.  You  might  be  inclined 
tt)  suppose  that  the  three  manuscripts  found  in  Germany,  are 
hose  which  contain  the  German  glosses :  but  such  is  not  the 


'  If  I  do  not  err,  M.  Pertz  has  recently  discovered  two  others  ;  bal 
cjtliing  has  as  yet  been  published  concerning  them 


186  HISTORY    OF 

case ;  of  the  three  manuscripts  with  llie  comments,  two  onlj 
come  from  Germany>  the  third  was  found  in  Paris  j  of  the  fif. 
teen  others,  fourteen  were  found  in  France,  and  one  in  Ger 
many. 

The  fifteen  manuscripts  of  the  unmixedly  Latin  textn  ana 
pretty  nearly  alike.  Tliere  are,  indeed,  some  various  readings 
in  the  prefaces,  the  epilogues,  and  in  the  arrangement  or  the 
compilation  of  the  articles,  but  these  are  of  little  importance. 
The  three  manuscripts  containing  the  German  comments  differ 
much  more  widely  ;  they  dillbr  in  tiic  number  of  titles  and 
articles,  in  their  arrangement,  even  in  their  contents,  and  still 
more  in  their  style.  Of  these  manuscripts,  two  are  written 
in  the  most  barbarous  Latin. 

Here,  then,  are  two  texts  of  the  Salic  law  which  support 
the  two  solutions  of  the  problem  ;  the  one  appears  rather  of  a 
Roman  origin,  the  other  more  entirely  Germanic.  Thus  the 
question  assumes  this  form :  of  the  two  texts,  which  is  the 
most  ancient  ? — to  which  of  them  should  prioruy  be  attri- 
buted ? 

The  common  opinion,  especially  in  Germany,  attributes 
the  highest  antiquity  to  the  text  which  bears  the  German 
gloss.  There  are,  indeed,  some  arguments  which  seem,  at 
first  sight,  to  support  this  view.  The  three  manuscripts  of 
this  text  bear  the  words.  Lex  Sulica  antiqua,  aiUiquissima, 
velustior  ;  whilst,  in  those  of  the  unmixedly  Latin  text,  we 
commonly  read  :  Lex  Sulica  recentior;  emendata,  rcfonnata. 
If  we  referred  the  question  to  these  epigraphs,  it  would  be 
resolved. 

Another  circumstance  seems  to  lead  us  to  the  same  solution. 
Several  manuscripts  contain  a  kind  of  preface,  in  which  the 
history  of  the  Salic  law  is  related.  The  following  is  the 
most  comprehensive.  You  will  immediately  see  what  conse- 
quences are  to  be  deduced  from  it  concerning  the  antiquity  of 
the  law : 

"The  nation  of  the  Franks,  illustrious,  founded  by  God, 
mighty  in  arms,  firm  in  treaties  of  peace,  profound  in  council, 
noble  and  healthy  in  body,  of  a  singular  fairness  and  beauty, 
bold,  active,  and  fierce  in  fight ;  lately  converted  to  the 
catholic  faith,  free  from  heresy  ;  while  it  was  yet  under  s 
barbarous  belief  seeking  the  key  of  knowledge  by  the  inspi 
ration  of  God,  desiring  justice,  and  observing  piety  accord- 
'ng  to  tht  nature  of  its  qualities  :  tho  Salic  law  was  dictaleJ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  181 

by  the  cliiefs  of  their  nation,  who,  at  that  time,  commanded 
therein. 

"  Four  men  were  chosen  of  many — namely,  Wisogasf, 
Bodogast,  Salogast,  and  VViridogast,'  in  the  places  called  Sala- 
ghcve,  Bodoghcve,  Windogheve.  These  men  met  in  thrcp 
vials,''  discussed  with  care  all  judicial  piocesses,  treated  of 
each  in  particular,  and  decreed  their  judgment  in  the  follow, 
ing  manner.  Afterwards,  when,  with  the  help  of  t!od, 
Chohlwig  the  long-haired,  the  beautiful,  the  illustrious  king 
of  the  Franks,  had  received  the  first  catholic  baptism,  every, 
thing  in  this  covenant  that  was  considered  unfitting  was 
an)ended  with  perspicuity  by  the  illustrious  kings,  Choldwig, 
Childeberg,  and  Chlotaire  ;  and  in  this  manner  was  the  follow. 
ing  decree  produced  : 

'"Honor  to  Christ  who  loves  the  Franks  !  May  he  pre. 
serve  their  kingdom,  and  fill  their  chiefs  with  the  light  of  his 
grace  !  May  he  protect  their  army  ;  may  he  give  them  signs 
which  shall  bear  witness  to  their  faith,  awarding  unto  them 
joys  of  peace  and  an  entire  felicity  !  May  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  direct  in  the  ways  of  piety  those  who  govern!  For 
this  is  the  nation  which,  small  in  number  but  valorous  and 
powerful,  shook  from  its  head  the  hard  yoke  of  the  Romans, 
and  which,  after  having  recognized  the  sacredness  of  baptism, 
sumptuously  adorned  with  gold  and  precious  stones  the  bodies 
of  the  holy  martyrs  whom  the  Romans  had  burnt  with  fire, 
massacred,  mutilated  with  the  sword,  or  delivered  to  be  torn 
to  pieces  by  wild  beasts. 

"  Concerning  the  inventors  of  laws  and  their  order. — Moses 
was  the  first  of  all  those  who  expounded,  in  sacred  letters, 
•he  divine  laws  to  the  Hebrew  nation.  Kinor  Phoroneus  was 
the  first  to  establish  laws  and  judgments  among  the  Greeks  ; 
Mercury  Trismegistus  gave  the  first  laws  to  the  Egyptians  ; 
Solon  gave  the  first  laws  to  the  Athenians  ;  Lycurgus  esta- 
blished the  first  laws  among  the  Lacedemonians,  by  the  au. 
thority  of  Apollo  ;  Numa  Pompilius,  who  succeeded  to  Romu- 
lus,  gave  the  first  laws  to  the  Romans.  Afterwards,  becausf 
the  factious  people  would  not  tolerate  its  magistrates,  it  created 
decemvirs  to  write  laws,  and  these  placed  upon  twelve  tables 


'  Gast  means  guest ;  gheve  or  eati,  canton,  district ;  salogast  is  the 
Vaicsl  inhabiting  the  canton  of  Sale  ;  bodogast,  the  guest  of  the  t  intoc 
3f  Bode,  &c. 

'  Mallum,  an  assembly  of  free  men. 


188  HISTORY    OF 

lie  laws  or  Solon,  translated  into  Latin,  I'hey  were:  Ajtpius 
Claudius  Sabinus,  T.  L.  Genutius,  P.  Sestius  Vaticanus,  T. 
Veturius  Cicurinus,  C.  Julius  Tullius,  A.  Manilius,  P.  Sul- 
oicius  Camerinus,  Sp.  Postumius  Albus,  P,  Horatius  Pulvillus, 
r.  Romilius  Vaticanus.  These  decemvirs  were  nominated 
.0  write  the  laws.  The  consul  Pompey  was  the  first  to  desire 
that  the  laws  should  be  written  in  books  ;  but  he  did  not  pro- 
secute his  desire  from  the  dread  of  calumniators.  Ceesar 
afterwards  begun  this  work,  but  he  was  killed  before  he  com- 
pleted it.  Little  by  little  the  ancient  laws  fell  into  disuse 
through  age  and  neglect ;  but  although  they  were  no  longer 
used,  it  was  nevertheless  necessary  that  they  should  be  known. 
The  new  laws  began  to  count  from  Constantine  and  his  suc- 
cessors ;  they  were  mixed  and  without  order.  Afterwards, 
the  august  Theodosius  IL,  in  imitation  of  the  Codes  of  Gregory 
and  of  ilermogenes,  caused  the  constitutions  given  out  since 
Constantine  to  be  collected  and  arranged  under  the  name  of 
each  emperor ;  and  this  is  called,  after  himself,  the  Theodosian 
Code.  Afterwards,  each  nation  selected,  according  to  its 
customs,  the  laws  which  were  suited  to  it ;  for  a  lung  custom 
passes  for  a  law  j  law  is  a  written  constitution  ;  custom  is 
usage  founded  upon  antiquity,  or  unwritten  law  ;  for  the 
word  law  is  derived  from  the  word  legere  (lex  a  legendo), 
because  it  is  written  ;  custom  is  a  long  habit  founded  solely 
upon  manners  ;  habit  is  a  certain  right  which  is  established 
oy  manners,  and  which  is  regarded  as  law  ;  law  is  all  that 
which  has  already  been  established  by  reason,  which  is  agree- 
able to  good  discipline  and  profitable  to  salvation  ;  but  we 
call  that  habit  wiiich  is  in  common  use. 

"  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Franks,  when  he  was  at  Ciialona, 
selected  the  wise  men  of  his  kingdom,  and  those  who  were 
learned  in  ancient  laws,  and  dictating  to  them  himself,  he 
commanded  them  to  write  the  laws  of  the  Franks,  of  the 
Allemanni,  of  the  Boii,  and  of  all  the  nations  which  were 
under  his  power,  according  to  the  customs  of  each.  He  added 
what  was  necessary  thereto,  and  took  away  what  was  im- 
uroper,  and  amended,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  Christians, 
that  which  was  according  to  the  ancient  pagan  customs.  And 
of  that  which  king  Theodoric  was  unable  to  change,  on 
account  of  the  great  antiquity  of  the  pagan  customs,  king 
Childebert  began  the  correction,  which  was  finished  by  king 
Chlotaire.  The  glorious  king  Dagobert  renewed  all  these 
.hings  by  means  of  the  illustrious  men,  Claudius,  ChadoiWi 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  189 

Dcinagne,  and  Agilof ;  ho  caused  to  be  transcribed,  with 
ameliorations,  the  ancient  laws,  and  gave  them  written  to 
each  nation.  Laws  are  made  in  order  that  human  wickedness 
should  be  restrained  by  fear,  that  innocence  should  bo  shielded 
from  all  danger  in  the  midst  of  the  wicked,  that  the  wicked 
should  dread  punishment,  and  that  they  should  curb  their  lust 
for  mischief. 

"  This  has  been  decreed  by  the  king,  ine  chiefs,  and  all  the 
Christian  people  who  dwell  in  the  country  of  the  Merovin- 
gians. 

:]<  3(c  :4e  :le  %  :|e  % 

"  In  the  name  of  Christ : — 
.  "  Here  commences  the  compact  of  the  Salic  law. 

"  Those  who  have  written  the  Salic  law  are  Wisogast, 
Aregast,  Salogast,  Windogast,  in  Bodham,  Saleham,  and 
Widham " 

From  this  preface,  from  the  words  anliqua,  vcluslior,  in- 
serted in  a  text,  and  from  some  other  analogous  indications,  it 
has  been  concluded — 1st.  That  the  Salic  law  was  written 
before  the  invasion,  beyond  the  Rhine,  and  in  the  language  of 
the  Franks.  2d.  That  the  manuscript  mixed  with  German 
words  was  the  most  ancient,  and  that  it  contained  the  remains 
of  the  primitive  text. 

The  most  learned  work  in  which  this  controversy  has  been 
recapitulated  is  that  of  M.  Wiarda,  entitled,  "  Histoire  ei 
explication  de  la  hi  Salique,"  and  published  at  Bremen  in 
1808.  I  will  not  carry  you  through  the  labyrinth  of  discus- 
sions which  he  engages  in  upon  the  different  questions  which 
his  work  embraces  ;  but  merely  point  out  his  principal  results. 
They  are  generally  supported  by  sufficient  proofs,  and  the 
criticism  upon  them  is  very  careful. 

According  to  M.  Wiarda,  the  text  mixed  with  German 
words — in  the  copies,  at  least,  which  we  possess  of  it — is  not 
more  ancient  than  the  other ;  one  might  be  tempted,  indeed, 
to  believe  it  more  modern.  Two  articles  especially  seem  to 
indicate  that  this  is  the  case  : — 1st.  Title  61,  cntitlrd  De  Chre- 
nccnula,^  which  treats  of  the  cession  of  property,  is  found  alike 
in  both  texts  ;  but  the  purely  Latin  text  gives  it  as  a  rule 
In  vigor,  while  the  text  with  the  German  gloss  adds  :    "  In 


That  is  to  say,  covcerning  green  herbage,  from  ancient  German 
ivoids  which  answer  tc  the  modern  words  grun,  green,  and  kraut, 
Lerli  or  plant 


190  HISTORY    OF 

present  times  this  no  longer  applies."  2d.  Under  title  r>9 
^  1st.,  the  text  with  the  gloss  runs  thus:  "  According  to  ihs 
ancient  law,  wjioever  disinterred  or  stripped  a  dead  and 
buried  body,  was  banished,"  &c.  This  law,  described  here 
as  ancient,  exists  in  the  unmixedty  Latin  text  without  any 
observation. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  these  two  passages  of  the  text 
with  the  gloss  seem  to  indicate  posterior  date. 

From  this  comparison  of  the  texts,  M.  Wiarda  passes  to  an 
examination  of  the  preface,  and  easily  discovers  improbabilities 
and  contradictions  therein.  Many  manuscripts  have  no  preface ; 
in  those  which  have,  they  vary  mucii.  Even  that  wiiich  1 
have  just  read  to  you  is  composed  of  incoherent  parts  ;  the 
second  part,  from  the  words,  the  inventors  of  laws,  &lc.  &C., 
is  copied  textually  in  the  treatise  Of  Etymologies  and  Origins, 
by  Isidore  of  Seville,  a  writer  of  the  seventh  century  •  the 
third  from  these  words,  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Franks,  is  also 
found  at  the  head  of  a  manuscript  of  the  law  of  the  Bavarians. 
The  names  of  the  first  compilers  of  the  law  of  the  Salian 
Franks  are  not  the  same  in  the  preface  and  in  the  body  of  the 
law  itself.  From  these,  and  many  other  circumstances,  M. 
Wiarda  concludes  that  the  prefaces  are  merely  additions 
written  at  the  head  of  the  text,  by  the  copyists,  who  collected, 
each  in  his  own  fashion,  tiie  popular  reports,  and  that  there- 
fore  no  authority  is  to  be  attributed  to  them. 

Moreover,  none  of  the  ancient  documents,  none  of  the  first 
chroniclers  who  have  minutely  related  the  history  of  the 
Franks,  neither  Gregory  of  Tours,  nor  Fredegaire,  for  instance, 
speak  of  any  compilation  of  their  laws.  We  must  come 
down  to  the  eighth  century  in  order  to  find  a  passage  in  which 
such  compilation  is  mentioned,  and  then  it  is  in  one  of  the 
most  confused  and  most  fabulous  chronicles  of  the  time,  the 
Gesta  Francorum,  that  we  read  : 

"  After  a  battle  with  the  emperor  Valentinian,  in  which 
their  chief,  Priam,  fell,  the  Franks  left  Sicambria,  and  came 
to   establish   tlicmselves   in   the  regions  of  Germany,  at  the 

extremity  of  the  river  Rhine There  tiiey  elected  king 

Pharamond,  son  of  Marcomir,  and,  elevating  him  upon  their 
shields,  they  proclaimed  him  the  long-haired  king  ;  and  then 
they  began  to  adopt  a  law  which  their  ancient  gentile  council, 
lors,  Wisogast,  Windogast,  Aregast,  and  Salogast,  wrote  in  the 
German  villages  of  Bodecheim,  Sulecheim,  and  Windecheini." 
'Gesta  Franc,  c.  3.) 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCK.  19| 

It  is  upon  this  paragraph  that  all  the  prefaces,  inscri|»tio.is, 
or  narratives,  placed  at  the  head  of  manuscripts,  are  founded  ; 
they  have  no  other  warrant,  and  inerit  no  more  faith. 

After  having  thus  discarded  the  indirect  documents  ad 
vanced  in  support  of  the  high  antiquity  and  of  the  purely 
German  origin  of  this  law,  M.  Wiarda  comes  directly  to  the 
question,  and  conceives,  1st.  That  the  Salic  law  was  written 
for  the  first  time  upon  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine,  in  Behnum, 
upon  the  territory  situated  between  the  forest  of  Ardei..'ies, 
the  Mens,  the  Lys,  and  the  Scheldt;  a  country  which,  for  a 
long  time,  was  occupied  by  the  Salian  Franks,  whom  espe- 
cially this  law  governed,  and  from  whom  it  received  its  name  ; 
2d.  that,  in  none  of  the  texts  actually  existing  does  this  law 
appear  to  go  further  back  than  the  seventh  century;  3d, 
that  it  has  never  been  written  except  in  Latin.  This  13 
acknowledged  with  regard  to  all  other  barbarous  laws,  the 
Ripuarian,  Bavarian,  and  Allemanic  laws;  and  nothing  indi- 
oates  that  the  Salic  law  was  an  exception.  Moreover,  the 
Germanic  dialects  were  not  written  before  the  reign  of  Charle- 
magne ;  and  Otfried  of  Weissemburg,  the  translator  of  the 
Gospel,  calls  the  Prankish  tongue,  even  in  the  ninth  century, 
Unguam  indisciplinabilem . 

Such  are  the  general  results  of  the  learned  labor  of  M. 
Wiarda ;  and,  upon  the  whole,  I  believe  that  they  are  legiti- 
Tiate.  He  even  places  too  little  importance  upon  a  kind  of 
proof,  which  is,  in  my  opinion,  more  forcible  than  the  greater 
portion  of  those  which  he  has  so  ingeniously  examined — I 
mean,  the  contents  themselves  of  the  Salic  law,  and  the  facta 
which  are  clearly  deducible  therefrom.  It  seems  evident  to 
me,  from  the  dispositions,  the  ideas,  and  the  'one  of  their 
law,  that  it  belongs  to  a  period  at  which  the  Franks  had  for 
a  long  time  existed  amidst  a  Roman  population.  It  constantly 
makes  mention  of  the  Romans ;  and  not  as  of  inhabitants 
scattered  thinly  here  and  there  over  the  territory,  but  as  of  a 
population  numerous,  industrious,  agricultural,  and  already 
reduced,  in  great  part,  at  least,  to  the  condition  of  laborers. 
We  also  perceive  from  this  law,  that  Christianity  was  not  of 
recent  date  among  the  Franks,  but  that  it  already  held  an  im- 
portant place  in  society  and  men's  minds.  Churches,  bishops, 
deacons,  clerks,  are  often  treated  of;  and  we  may  recognize, 
in  more  than  one  article,  the  influence  of  religion  upon  moral 
notions,  and  the  change  which   it  had  already  wrought  umn 


/92  HISTORY    OF 

barbarous  manners.  In  short,  the  intrinsic  proof,  derivable 
from  the  law  itself,  appears  to  me  conclusive  in  favor  of  the 
hypothesis  maintained  by  M.  Wiarda. 

1  believe,  however,  that  the  traditions  which,  through  so 
many  contradictions  and  fables,  appear  in  the  prefaces  and 
epilogues  annexed  to  the  law,  have  more  importance,  and 
merit  more  consideration,  than  he  gives  them.  They  indi- 
cate that,  from  the  eighth  century,  it  was  a  general  belief,  a 
popular  tradition,  that  the  customs  of  the  Salian  Franks  weie 
anciently  collected — they  were  Christians  before,  in  a  terri. 
tory  more  German  than  tliat  which  they  now  occupied.  How- 
ever little  their  authenticity,  and  however  defective  tiie  docu- 
ments where  these  traditions  are  preserved  may  be,  they  at 
least  prove  that  the  traditions  existed.  We  are  not  obliged 
to  believe  that  the  Salic  law,  such  as  we  have  it,  is  of  a  very 
remote  date,  nor  that  it  was  compiled  as  recounted,  nor  even 
that  it  was  ever  written  in  the  German  language ;  but  tiiat  it 
was  connected  with  customs  collected  and  transmitted  from 
generation  to  generation,  when  the  Franks  lived  about  the 
mouth  of  the  Rhine,  and  modified,  extended,  explained,  re- 
duced into  law,  at  various  times,  from  that  epoch  down  to  the 
end  of  the  eighth  century — this,  I  think,  is  the  reasonable 
result  to  which  this  discussion  should  lead. 

Allow  me,  before  quitting  the  work  of  M.  Wiarda,  to  call 
your  attention  to  two  ideas  which  are  developed  there,  and 
which  contain,  in  my  opinion,  a  large  portion  of  truth.  The 
Salic  law,  according  to  him,  is,  properly  speaking,  no  law  at 
all,  no  code;  it  was  not  compiled  and  published  by  a  legal, 
official  authority,  whether  that  of  a  king,  or  of  an  assembly  of 
the  people  or  great  men.  He  has  been  disposed  to  .see  in  it  a 
mere  enumeration  of  customs  and  judicial  decisions — a  collec- 
tion made  by  some  learned  man,  some  barbarian  priest — a  col- 
lection analogous  to  the  Mirror  of  the  Saxo7is,  to  the  Mirror  of 
the  Swabians,  and  many  other  ancient  monuments  of  tlie  Ger. 
manic  legislation,  which  have  evidently  only  tliis  character. 
M.  Wiarda  founds  the  conjecture  upon  the  example  of  many 
other  nations  at  the  same  degree  of  civilization,  and  upon  a 
immber  of  ingenious  arguments.  One  has  escaped  him — 
perhaps  the  most  conclusive;  this  is  a  text  of  the  Salic  law 
itself     Tliere  we  read: — 

"  It  any  one  strips  a  dead  person  before  he  is  placed  in  the 
eoflh,  let  him  be  condemned  to  pay  1800  deniers,  which  make 


CIVIMZATION    IN    FRANCE.  198 

{")  SOUS  ;  and,  according  to  another  decision  (in  alia  seiitcntta), 
2500  dcniers,  which  make  (52  sous  and  a-half.'" 

This  is  evidently  not  a  legislative  text,  for  it  contains  two 
difTerent  penalties  for  the  same  crime ;  and  the  words  accord, 
ing  to  another  decision,  are  exactly  those  which  would  be  found 
ill  the  language  of  jurisprudence,  in  a  collection  of  decrees. 

M.  Wiarda  thitd<s,  moreover,  and  this  will  confirm  the  pre- 
ceding  opinion,  that  the  Salic  law  does  not  contain  all  the 
legislation,  all  the  law  of  the  Salian  Franks.  We  find,  in 
fact,  in  the  monuments  of  the  ninth,  tenth,  and  eleventh 
centuries,  a  certain  number  of  cases  which  are  called  ruloa 
secundum  legem  sa/icam,  and  of  which  the  text  of  that  law 
makes  no  mention.  Certain  forms  of  marriage,  certain  rules 
of  affiancing,  are  expressly  called  secundum  legem  sjlicam, 
wliich  do  not  figure  there  at  all.  From  whence  one  might 
conclude  tha*  a  large  number  of  the  customs  of  the  Siilian 
Franks  had  never  been  written,  and  form  no  part  of  the  text 
which  we  possess. 

Here  are  a  great  many  details,  and  I  have  suppressed  many 
more  ;  I  have  given  only  the  result  of  the  controversies  of 
which  the  history  of  the  Salic  law  alone  has  been  the  object. 
It  is  from  not  having  given  proper  attention  to  it,  from  no 
having  scrutinized  with  care  the  origins  and  vicissitudes  of 
this  law,  that  such  strange  mistakes  have  been  fallen  into  as 
to  its  character.  Let  us  now  enter  into  the  examination  of 
he  legislation  itself,  and  endeavor  to  bring  to  bear  upon  it 
a  rather  close  criticism,  for  here  also  people  have  strangely 
fallen  into  vagueness  and  declamation. 

The  two  texts  are  of  unequal  extent :  the  text,  mixed  with 
Germanic  words,  contains  80  titles  and  420  articles  or  para- 
graphs ;  the  purely  Latin  text  has  but  70,  71,  72  titles,  accord- 
ing  to  the  different  manuscripts,  and  406,  407,  or  408  articles. 
One  manuscript,  that  of  Wolfenbuttel,  a  very  confused  one 
in  its  arrangements,  contains  even  a  greater  number. 

At  the  first  aspect  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck  with  the 
apparent  utter  chaos  of  the  law.  It  treats  of  all  things — of 
political  law,  of  civil  law,  of  criminal  law,  of  civil  procedure, 
of  criminal  procedure,  of  rural  jurisdiction,  all  mixed  up  to- 
gether without  any  distinction  or  classification.  If  we  were 
to  write  out,  each  on  a  separate  piece  of  paper,  the  varioui 


Pact.  Leg.  Sol.,  ed.  Herold,  tit  xvii.  de  Expoliationibus,  ^  1 


194  HISTORY    OF 

articles  of  our  various  codes,  and  after  having  thrown  their. 
together  into  an  urn,  draw  them  out  as  each  presented  Itself, 
the  order,  or  rather  disorder,  in  which  chance  would  throw 
them,  would  differ  very  little  from  their  arrangement  in  the 
Salic  law. 

When  we  examine  this  law  more  closely,  we  perceive  that 
it  is  essentially  a  penal  regulation,  that  in  it  the  criminal  law 
occupies  the  first,  and,  indeed,  almost  tlie  whole  place.  The 
political  law  makes  its  appearance  quite  incidentally  and  in- 
directly,  and  in  reference  only  to  institutions,  to  facts  which 
are  regarded  as  established,  and  with  the  foundation  or  even 
declaration  of  which  the  law  looks  upon  itself  as  having  no- 
thing to  do  ;  as  to  the  civil  law,  it  contains  some  enactments 
of  a  more  precise  and  distinct  nature,  to  the  preparation  of 
which  much  attention  seems  to  have  been  paid.  The  same  is 
the  case  with  regard  to  civil  procedure.  As  to  criminal  pro- 
cedure, the  Salic  law  appears  to  consider  almost  every  point 
established  and  understood  ;  all  that  it  does  under  this  head, 
is  to  supply  a  few  obvious  deficiencies,  and  to  lay  down  in 
certain  cases  the  duties  of  judges,  of  witnesses,  &c.  Pains 
and  penalties  are  here  entirely  dominant ;  the  great  aim  is  to 
repress  crime,  and  to  inflict  punishment.  It  is  a  penal  code. 
It  contains  three  hundred  and  forty-tiiree  penal  articles,  and 
but  sixty-five  upon  all  other  subjects. 

Such,  indeed,  is  the  character  of  all  legislations  in  their 
infancy  ;  it  is  by  penal  laws  that  nations  make  the  first  visible 
steps — the  first  written  steps,  if  I  may  use  the  expression — 
out  of  barbarism.  They  have  no  idea  of  writing  the  political 
law ;  the  powers  which  govern  them,  and  the  forms  in  which 
those  powers  are  exercised,  are  clear,  certain,  understood 
facts:  it  is  not  in  this  period  of  their  existence  that  nations 
discuss  constitutions.  The  civil  law  exists  in  like  manner  as 
a  fact ;  the  mutual  relations  between  men,  their  covenants 
and  agreements,  are  left  to  the  rules  of  natural  equity,  are 
conducted  according  to  certain  fixed  principles,  certain  gene, 
rally  admitted  forms.  Tiie  legal  settlement  of  tliis  portion  ol" 
law  does  not  take  place  until  after  a  much  fuller  development 
of  the  social  state.  Whether  under  a  religious  form,  or  under 
one  purely  secular,  the  penal  law  is  the  first  that  makes  ita 
-appearance  in  the  legislative  career  of  nations  j  their  firat 
effort  towards  the  perfecting  of  civil  life  consists  in  raising 
barriers  against,  in  proclaiming,  beforehand,  punishments  foi 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  195 

excesses  of  individual  liberty.     The  Salic  law  belongs  fo  this 
period  of  the  history  of  our  society. 

In  order  to  acquire  a  true  knowledge  of  this  law,  apart  fron 
(he  vague  assertions  and  discussions  of  which  it  has  been  made 
the  object,  let  us  endeavor  to  consider  it — first,  in  the  enume 
ration  and  definition  of  crimes  ;  secondly,  in  its  application  of 
punishments;  thirdly,  in  its  criminal  procedure.  These  are 
he  three  essential  elements  of  all  penal  legislation. 

I.  The  crimes  taken  cognisance  of  in  the  Salic  law  are 
almost  all  of  them  classed  under  two  heads:  robbery,  and 
violence  against  the  person.  Of  three  hundred  and  forty- 
three  articles  in  the  penal  law,  one  hundred  and  fifty  have 
reference  to  cases  of  robbery,  and  of  these  seventy-four  relate 
to  and  assign  punishments  for  the  stealing  of  animals — twenty, 
namely,  to  pig  stealing  ;  sixteen  to  horse  stealing  ;  thirteen 
to  the  stealing  of  bulls,  cows,  and  oxen  ;  seven  to  sheep  and 
goat  stealing;  four  to  dog  stealing;  seven  to  bird  stealing; 
and  seven  to  bee  stealing.  Under  these  heads  the  laws  enter 
into  the  most  minute  details ;  the  crime  and  the  punishment 
vary  according  to  the  age  and  sex  of  the  thief,  the  number  of 
animals  stolen,  the  place  and  time  of  the  robbery,  &c. 

Cases  of  violence  against  the  person  furnish  matter  for  113 
articles,  of  which  30  relate  to  mutilation  in  every  possible  va- 
riety, 24  to  violence  against  women,  &c. 

I  need  proceed  no  further  in  this  enumeration  of  crimes. 
They  exhibit  to  us  in  a  clear  light  two  marked  characteristics 
of  the  law  :  1st,  it  belongs  to  a  society  in  a  very  low  and  in- 
artificial  state.  Open  the  criminal  codes  of  another  period, 
you  find  a  far  greater  variety  in  the  classes  of  crimes,  while 
in  each  class  the  specification  of  cases  is  infinitely  less  detailed ; 
we  recognize  at  once  more  various  facts  and  more  general 
ideas.  The  crimes  set  forth  here  are,  for  the  most  part,  such 
only  as  may  be  anticipated  in  a  condition  of  things  under 
which  mankind  becomes  more  united,  however  simple  their 
relations  may  be,  however  monotonous  their  life.  2d,  It  is 
also  evidently  a  very  coarse  and  brutal  society,  in  which  the 
confusion  of  individual  wills  and  forces  is  carried  to  an  extre 
mity,  where  there  is  no  kind  of  public  power  to  prevent  their 
excesses,  where  the  safety  of  persons  and  properties  is  every 
instant  in  peril.  This  absence  of  all  generalization,  of  all 
attempt  to  give  a  simple  and  common  character  to  crimes, 
nttests  at  once  the  want  of  intellectual  development,  and  the 
j>recipitation  of  the  legislator.  It  combines  r.othing;  it  is 
33 


196  HISTORY    OF 

under  the  influence  of  a  pressing  necessity;  it  takes,  so  tc 
speak,  every  action,  every  case  of  robbery,  of  violence  in  the 
very  fact,  in  order  to  immediately  inflict  a  penalty  upon  them. 
Rude  itself,  it  liad  to  do  with  rude  men,  and  had  no  idea  but 
of  adding  a  new  article  of  law  whenever  a  new  crime  was 
committed,  however  trifling  its  diflfcrence  from  those  it  had 
already  contemplated. 

II.  From  the  crimes  let  us  pass  to  the  punishments,  and 
lot  us  see  what  was  the  character  of  the  Salic  law  in  this  re- 
spect. 

At  the  first  glance,  we  shall  be  struck  with  its  mildness. 
This  legislation,  which  as  to  crimes  reveals  such  violent  and 
brutal  manners,  contains  no  cruel  punishments,  and  not  only 
IS  it  not  cruel,  but  it  seems  to  bear  a  singular  respect  towards 
the  person  and  liberty  of  men  :  of  free  men,  that  is  to  say;  for 
whenever  slaves  or  even  laborers  are  in  question,  cruelty  re- 
appears— the  law  abounds  in  tortures  and  in  corporeal  punish- 
ments for  them ;  but  for  free  men,  Franks  and  even  Romans, 
it  is  extremely  moderate.  There  are  but  faw  cases  of  the 
punishment  of  death,  and  from  this  criminals  could  always 
redeem  themselves;  no  corporeal  punishments,  no  imprison- 
ments.  The  only  punishment  put  forth  in  writing  in  the 
Salic  law,  is  composition,  wehrgeld,  widrigeld} — that  is,  a  cer- 
tain sum  which  the  guilty  person  was  obliged  to  pay  to  the 
offended  person,  or  to  his  family.  To  the  wehrgeld  is  added, 
in  a  great  number  of  cases,  what  the  German  laws  call  the 
fred,'  a  sum  paid  to  the  king  or  to  the  magistrate,  in  repara- 
tion for  the  violation  of  public  peace.  The  penal  system  of 
the  law  reduces  itself  to  this. 

Composition  is  the  first  step  of  criminal  legislation  out  of 
•no. .system  of  personal  vengeance.  The  right  concealed  under 
Criis  penalty,  the  right  which  ex'sts  at  the  foundation  of  the 
Salic  law,  and  all  barbaric  laws,  is  the  riglit  of  each  man  to 
rio  justice  to  himself,  to  revenge  himself  by  force;  war  be- 
tween the  offender  and  the  offended.  Composition  is  an  attem|)t 
lo  substitute  a  legal  system  for  this  war ;  it  is  the  right  of  the 
jfTender,  by  paying  a  certain  sum,  to  protect  himself  from  the 
vengeance  of  the  oflfended ;  it  obliges  the  offended  party  to 
'  enounce  the  employment  of  force. 


'  Prohibition  money  (from  tvhcrcn,  whartn,  bctvahrai),  guarantee 
•See  my  Essais  sur  I'llistoire  de  France,  p.  197 
»  Ft(jVi  friedea,  peace. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FHANCE.  10? 

Be  careful,  however,  not  to  suppose  that  it  Iiad  thAs  efTec 
from  its  origin  ;  the  ofiondcd  party  for  a  long  time  preserved 
the  privilege  of  choosing  hetweon  composition  and  war,  of  re- 
fusing the  ipchrgcld,  and  having  recourse  to  vengeance.  The 
chronicles  and  documents  of  all  kinds  leave  no  douht  on  the 
suhject.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  at  the  eighth  century 
composition  was  obligatory,  and  the  refusal  to  be  contented 
Jicrcwith  was  regarded  as  a  violence,  not  as  a  right;  but 
assuredly,  it  iiad  not  always  been  so,  and  composition  was  at 
first  ordy  a  rather  itieflicacious  attempt  to  put  an  end  to  the 
disorderly  contest  of  individual  force — a  kind  of  legal  ofier 
from  the  oficnder  to  the  offended. 

In  Germany,  and  especially  in  later  times,  a  far  higher  idea 
has  been  attached  to  it.  Men  of  learning  and  of  rare  minds 
have  been  struck,  not  only  with  the  respect  for  the  power  and 
liberty  of  man  which  appears  in  this  kind  of  penalty,  but  with 
many  other  characteristics  which  they  think  arc  to  be  recog- 
nized in  it.  I  shall  arrest  your  attention  but  upon  one  :  what, 
from  the  time  that  we  consider  things  under  an  elevated  and 
moral  point  of  view,  what  is  the  radical  vice  of  modern  penal 
legislation  ?  They  strike,  they  punish,  without  troubling 
themselves  to  know  whether  the  guilty  party  accepts  the  pe- 
nalty or  not,  whether  he  acknowledges  his  wrong,  whether 
his  will  does  or  does  not  concur  with  the  will  of  the  law;  they 
act  only  by  constraint,  justice  cares  not  to  appear  to  him  she 
condemns,  under  other  features  than  those  of  force. 

Composition  has,  so  to  speak,  an  entirely  differciit  penal 
physiognomy;  it  supposes,  it  involves  the  avowal  of  wrong  by 
the  offender ;  it  is,  in  its  way,  an  act  of  liberty;  he  may  refuse 
it,  and  run  the  risk  of  the  vengeance  of  the  offended  ;  when 
he  submits  to  it,  he  acknowledges  himself  guilty,  and  offers 
reparation  for  the  crime.  The  offended  party,  on  his  side, 
in  accepting  the  composition,  reconciles  himself  with  the 
offender  ;  he  solemnly  promises  to  forget,  to  abandon  ven- 
geance :  so  thai  composition  as  a  penalty  has  characteristics 
much  more  moral  than  the  punishments  of  more  learned  legis- 
lations ;  it  gives  evidence  of  a  profound  feeling  of  morality 
Rod  liberty. 

I  here  resume,  in  bringing  them  to  more  precise  terms,  the 
Ideas  of  some  modern  German  writers ;  among  others,  of  a 
young  man  lately  dead,  to  the  great  sorrow  of  science,  M. 
kogge,  who  has  set  them  forth  in  an  Essay  upnn  the  Judicial 
System  of  the  Germans,  published  at  Halle,  in  1820.     Among 


108  HISTORY    OP 

many  ingenious  views,  and  some  probable  explanations  of  the 
ancient  social  German  state,  there  is,  I  think,  in  this  systeir. 
a  universal  mistake,  a  great  want  of  understanding  man  and 
barbaric  society. 

The  source  of  tlie  error,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  very  false 
idea  which  is  frequently  formed  of  the  liberty  which  seemed 
to  exist  in  the  earliest  age  of  nations.  There  can  be  no  doubt, 
but  that,  at  this  epoch,  the  liberty  of  individuals  was,  in  fact, 
very  great.  On  tlie  one  hand,  ihere  existed  between  men 
inequalities  but  little  varied,  and  little  powerful ;  those  which 
arose  from  wealth,  from  antiquity  of  race,  and  from  a  multi- 
tude of  complex  causes,  could  not  yet  have  been  developed, 
or  have  produced  anything  more  than  very  transitory  elTects. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  was  no  longer  any,  or  scarcely  any, 
public  power  capable  of  holding  in  check  or  restraining  indi- 
vidual wills.  Men  were  firmly  governed  neither  by  other 
men  nor  by  society  :  their  liberty  was  real ;  each  did  almost 
what  he  wished  according  to  his  power,  at  his  own  risk  and 
perils.  I  say  according  to  his  power ;  this  co-existence  of  in- 
dividual liberties  was,  in  fact,  at  tiiis  epoch  a  mere  contest  uf 
powers ;  that  is,  warfare  between  individuals  and  families, 
war  incessant,  capricious,  violent,  and  barbarous  as  the  men 
who  carried  it  on. 

This  was  not  society:  and  it  was  not  long  before  they  found 
this  out ;  efTorts  were  made  on  all  sides  to  escape  from  such  a 
state,  in  order  to  enter  upon  social  order.  The  evil  every- 
where sought  its  remedy.  Thus  it  was  ordered  by  this  mys- 
terious  life,  this  secret  power  which  presides  over  the  destinies 
of  the  human  race. 

Two  remedies  appeared :  1st,  inequality  between  men  de- 
clared itself;  some  bsyjame  rich,  others  poor;  some  noble, 
some  obscure;  some  were  patrons,  others  clients;  some  mas- 
■ers,  others  slaves.  2dly.  Public  power  developed  itself;  a 
collective  force  arose,  which,  in  the  name  and  interest  of  so- 
ciety, proclaimed  and  executed  certain  laws.  Thus  origi- 
nated, on  the  one  side,  aristocracy,  and  on  the  other,  govern- 
ment— tliat  is  to  say,  two  methods  of  restraining  individual 
will,  two  means  of  subduing  many  men  to  a  will  dilFerent 
from  their  own. 

In  their  turn  the  remedies  became  evils ;  the  aristocracy 
tyrannized,  and  the  public  power  tyrannized  ;  this  oppression 
led  to  a  disorder,  difierent  from  the  first,  but  profound  and 
intolerable.     Still,  in  the  heart  of  social  life,  by  the  sole  eflcol 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  190 

of  its  continuAace,  and  by  the  concurrence  of  numerous  influ- 
ences, individuals,  the  sole  real  beings,  developed,  enlightened^ 
and  perfected  themselves;  their  reason  was  less  contracted, 
their  will  less  irregular;  they  began  to  perceive  that  they 
might  live  very  well  in  peace  without  so  great  an  amount  of 
inequality  or  public  power — that  is  to  say,  that  society  could 
subsist  very  well  without  so  dear  a  sacrifice  to  liberty.  At 
this  time,  just  as  there  had  been  an  effort  for  the  creation  of 
public  power,  and  for  inequality  between  men,  so  now  there 
commenced  an  cfi"ort  which  tended  to  the  attainment  of  a  con- 
trary  end,  towards  the  reduction  of  the  aristocracy  and  the 
government;  that  is  to  say,  society  tended  towards  a  state 
which,  externally  at  least,  and  judging  only  from  that  point 
of  view,  resembled  what  it  liad  been  in  its  earliest  age,  at  the 
free  development  of  individual  wills,  in  that  situation  in  which 
each  man  did  what  he  pleased,  and  at  his  own  risk  and  peril. 
If  I  have  explained  myself  clearly,  you  now  know  where 
the  great  mistake  lies  of  the  admirers  of  the  barbarous  state: 
Struck,  on  the  one  hand,  by  tlie  slight  development,  whether 
of  public  power,  or  of  inequality,  and  on  the  other,  by  the 
extent  of  individual  liberty  which  they  met  with,  they  thence 
concluded  that  society,  despite  the  rudeness  of  its  forms,  was 
at  bottom,  in  its  normal  state,  under  the  empire  of  its  legi- 
timate principles,  such,  in  fact,  as,  after  its  noblest  pro. 
gressions,  it  evidently  tends  again  to  become.  They  forgot 
but  one  thing  ;  they  did  not  trouble  themselves  to  compare  men 
themselves,  in  these  two  terms  of  social  life  ;  they  forgot  that 
in  the  first,  coarse,  ignorant  and  violent,  governed  by  passion, 
and  always  ready  to  have  recourse  to  force,  they  were  inca- 
pable of  living  in  peace  according  to  reason  and  justice — that 
is  to  sa)  of  living  in  society,  without  an  external  force  com- 
pelling them.  The  progress  of  society  consists,  above  all 
in  a  change  in  man  himself,  m  his  being  rendered  capable 
of  liberty — that  is  to  say,  of  governing  himself  according  to 
reason.  If  liberty  perished  at  the  beginning  of  the  social 
career,  it  wag  because  man  was  incapable,  wjiilc  keeping  it, 
of  advancing  in  it;  his  recovering  and  exercising  it  more  and 
more,  is  the  end  and  perfection  of  society,  but  it  was  by 
no  means  the  primitive  state,  the  condition  of  barbaroua 
life.  In  the  barbarous  life,  liberty  was  nothing  but  the 
empire  of  force — that  is  to  say,  the  ruin,  or  rather  the  absence, 
of  society  It  is  thence  that  so  many  men  of  talent  have 
leceived  themselves  c6ncerning  the  barbaric  legislations,  and 


200  HISTORY    OF 

particularly  concerning  that  which  now  occupies  us.  They 
have  there  seen  the  principal  external  conditions  of"  liberty, 
and  in  the  midst  of  these  conditions  they  have  placed  the 
sentiments,  ideas,  and  men  of  another  age.  Tlie  theory  of 
composition,  I  have  just  stated,  has  no  other  source  :  its  inco. 
herence  is  evident;  and  instead  of  attributing  so  much  moral 
worth  to  this  kind  of  penalty,  it  should  be  regarded  only 
as  a  first  step  out  of  a  state  of  warfare  and  the  barbarous 
strugij-lc  of  forces. 

III.  Witli  regard  to  criminal  procedure,  the  manner  of  the 
prosecution  and  judgment  of  ollunces,  the  Salic  law  is  very 
imperfect,  and  almost  silent ;  it  takes  the  judicial  institutions 
as  a  fact,  and  speaks  neither  of  tribunals,  judges,  nor  forms. 
One  meets  here  and  there,  as  to  summoning,  the  appear- 
ance in  court,  the  obligations  of  witnesses  and  judges,  the 
proof  by  hot  water,  &c.,  a  few  special  dispositions  :  but  in 
order  to  complete  them,  to  reconstruct  the  sy.stem  of  institu- 
tions and  manners  to  which  they  attach  themselves,  it  is 
necessary  to  carry  our  investigations  far  beyond  the  text,  and 
even  the  object  of  tlie  law.  Among  the  features  of  informa- 
tion which  they  conttiin  concerning  criminal  procedure,  I 
shall  arrest  your  attention  upon  two  points  only,  the  distinction 
of  fact  and  law,  and  the  compurgators  or  conjuratores. 

When  the  offender,  upon  the  citation  of  tlie  offended  party, 
appeared  in  the  mal,  or  assembly  of  free  men,  before  the 
judges,  no  matter  whom,  called  upon  to  decide,  counts,  rachim- 
burgs,  ahrimans,  &c.,  the  question  submitted  to  tiiem  was, 
what  the  law  commanded  as  to  the  alleged  fact :  people  diil 
not  come  before  them  to  discuss  the  truth  or  falsehood  of 
the  fact;  they  fulfilled  before  them  the  conditions  by  which 
this  first  point  should  be  decided  ;  then,  according  to  the 
law  under  which  the  parties  lived,  tliey  were  required  to 
determine  the  rate  of  composition  and  all  the  circum.stances 
of  tlie  penalty. 

As  to  the  reality  of  the  fact  itself,  it  was  cstablisheci 
before  the  judges,  in  various  ways,  by  recourse  to  tiie  judg- 
ment of  God,  the  test  of  boiling  water,  single  combat,  d'c, 
sometimes  by  the  depositions  of  witnesses,  and  most  fre- 
quently by  the  oath  of  the  conjuratores.  The  accused 
came  attended  by  a  certain  number  of  men,  his  relations, 
neighbors,  or  friends — six,  eight,  nine,  twelve,  fifty,  seventy- 
Iwo,  in  certain  cases  even  a  hundred — who  came  to  make  oath 
that  he   had   not  done  what  was  imputed  to  him.     In  certain 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE  201 

Ojses,  the  ofTended  party  also  hao  his  conjuratores.  There 
was  tliore  neither  interrogation,  nor  discussion  of  evidence,  nor, 
properly  speaking,  examination  of  the  fact ;  the  conjuraiorcs 
simply  attested,  under  oath,  the  truth  of  the  assertion  of  tho 
ofFcnded  party,  or  tiie  denial  of  the  otfender.  This,  as  regards 
the  discovery  of  facts,  was  the  great  means  and  general  system 
of  the  barbarous  laws  :  the  conjuraiorcs  are  mentioned  less 
frequently  in  the  law  of  the  Salian  Franks  than  in  the  other 
barbarous  laws — in  that  of  the  Ripuarian  Franks,  for  instance  ; 
yet  tiiere  is  no  doubt  that  they  were  everywhere  equally  in 
use,  and  the  foundation  of  criminal  procedure. 

This  system,  like  that  of  composition,  has  been  an  object 
of  great  admiration  to  many  learned  men  ;  they  have  seen 
in  it  two  rare  merits ;  the  power  of  the  ties  of  family, 
friendsliip,  or  neighborhood,  and  the  confidence  placed  by 
the  law  in  the  veracity  of  man  :  "  The  Germans,"  says  Rogge, 
"have  never  felt  the  necessity  for  a  regular  system  of  proofs. 
What  may  appear  strange  in  this  assertion  vanishes,  if  one  is 
thoroughly  iinpressed,  as  I  am,  with  a  full  faith  in  the  nobility 
of  character,  and,  above  all,  the  unbounded  veracity  of  our 
ancestors.'" 

It  would  be  amusing  to  pass  from  this  sentence  to  Gregory 
of  Tours,  the  poem  of  the  Niebelungen,  and  all  the  poetical 
or  historical  monuments  of  the  ancient  German  manners  : 
to  the  artifice,  deceit,  and  want  of  faith,  shown  there  at  every 
step,  sometimes  with  the  most  dexterous  refinement,  and 
sometimes  with  tho  coarsest  audacity.  Can  you  believe  that 
the  Germans  were  any  different  when  before  their  tribunals 
than  in  common  life,  and  that  the  registers  of  their  law-suits, 
if  such  things  as  registers  then  existed,  should  give  the  lie  to 
their  history  ? 

I  do  not  attach  any  special  reproach  to  them  for  these 
vices ;  they  are  the  vices  of  all  barbarous  nations,  in  all 
epochs,  and  under  every  zone ;  American  traditions  bear 
witness  to  it  as  well  as  those  of  Europe,  and  the  Iliad  a? 
well  as  the  Niebelungen.  I  am  far,  too,  from  denying  that 
natural  morality  in  man,  which  abandons  him  in  no  age 
or  condition  of  society,  and  mixes  itself  with  the  most  brutal 
empire  of  ignorance  or  passion.  But  you  will  readily  com 
piehend,  what,  in  the  midst  of  such  manners,  the  oaths  of  tlit 
conjuratores  must  very  frequently  have  been. 

*  Ueb°r  das  ser'chtwesen  der  Germanen,  Preface,  p.  6. 


202  HisTOBY  or 

With  regard  to  the  spirit  of  tribe  or  family,  it  is  true,  it 
was  powerful  among  the  Germans  ;  of  this,  among  many 
other  proofs,  the  conjuraiores  give  one ;  but  it  had  not  all  the 
causes,  nor  did  it  produce  all  the  moral  consequences  which 
are  attributed  to  it :  a  man  accused  was  a  man  attacked;  his 
neighbors  followed  and  surrounded  him  before  the  tribunal 
as  at  a  combat.  It  was  between  families  that  the  state  of 
warfare  subsisted  in  the  heart  of  barbarism  :  can  we  be  sur- 
prised that  tiiey  should  group  arid  j)Ut  themselves  in  n\ovc. 
meat  when,  under  such  a  form,  war  menaced  them? 

The  true  origin  of  the  conjuraiores  was,  that  all  other 
means  of  establisliing  facts  were  almost  impracticable.  Think 
what  such  an  inquiry  exacts,  what  a  degree  of  intellectual 
development  and  public  power  are  necessary  in  order  to  con- 
front the  various  kinds  of  proofs,  to  collect  and  contest 
the  evidence,  to  bring  the  witnesses  before  the  judges,  and 
to  obtain  truth  from  them  in  the  presence  of  the  accusera 
and  the  accused.  Nothing  of  this  was  possible  in  the  society 
governed  by  the  Salic  law  ;  and  it  was  neither  from  choice 
nor  moral  combination  that  they  then  had  recourse  to  the 
judgment  of  God  and  the  oath  of  relations,  but  because  they 
could  neither  do,  nor  apprehend  anything  better. 

Such  are  the  principal  points  of  this  law  which  seemed  to 
me  to  merit  your  attention.  I  say  nothing  of  the  fragments 
of  political  law,  civil  law,  or  civil  procedure,  wliich  are 
found  dispersed  through  it,  nor  even  of  that  famous  article 
which  orders  that  "  Salic  land  shall  not  fall  to  woman ;  and 
that  the  inheritance  shall  devolve  exclusively  on  the  males." 
No  person  is  now  ignorant  of  its  true  meaning.  Some  dis- 
positions, relative  to  the  forms  by  which  a  man  may  separate 
himself  from  his  family,'  the  getting  free  of  all  obligation  of 
relationship,  and  entering  upon  an  entire  independence,  are 
very  curious,  and  give  a  great  insight  into  social  life;  but 
they  hold  an  unimportant  |)lace  in  the  law,  and  do  not  de- 
termine its  end.  I  repeat,  that  it  is  essentially  a  penal  code, 
and  you  now  comprehend  it  under  tiiis  view.  Considering  it 
in  its  whole,  it  is  impossible  not  to  recognize  in  it  a  complex, 
uncertain,  and  transitory  legislation.  One  feels  at  every 
moment  the  passage  from  one  country  into  another,  from  one 
social  state  into  another  social  state,  Irom  one  religion  into 
another  religion,  and  from  one  language  into  another  language  j 

>Tit.  liii.  <^  1—3 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  20fl 

a. most  every  metamorphosis  which  can  take  place  in  the  life 
of  a  nation  is  statnppci  upon  it.  Its  existence  also  was  pre- 
carious and  brief;  from  the  tenth  century,  perhaps,  it  wag 
replaced  by  a  multitude  of  local  customs,  to  which,  of  a 
surety,  it  had  contributed  a  great  deal,  but  which  were 
likewise  drawn  from  other  sources,  in  the  Roman  law,  the 
canon  law,  and  the  necessities  of  circumstances  ;  and  when, 
in  the  fourteenth  century,  they  invoked  the  Salic  law,  in 
order  to  regulate  the  succession  to  the  crown,  it  had  certainly 
been  a  long  time  since  it  had  been  spoken  of,  except  in  re- 
membrance, and  upon  some  great  occasion. 

Three  other  barbarian  laws  ruled  over  the  nations  esta- 
blished  in  Gaul,  those  of  tlie  Ripuarians,  the  Burgundians, 
and  the  Visigoths;  these  will  form  the  subject  of  our  next 
lecture. 


204  HISTORY  nv 


TENTH  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Is  the  transitory  chamcter  of  the  Salic  laH 
found  in  the  laws  of  the  Ripuarians,  the  Burgundians,  and  tlie  Visi- 
goths ? — Ist,  The  law  of  the  Ripuarians — The  Ripuarian  l-'raaio— 
History  of  the  compilation  of  their  law — Its  contents — Dillerence 
between  it  and  the  Salic  law — 2d,  The  law  of  the  Burgundians — 
History  of  its  compilation — Its  contents — Its  distinctive  character  — 
3d,  The  law  of  the  Visigoths — It  concerns  the  history  of  Spain 
more  than  that  of  France — Its  general  character — Effect  ol  Roman 
civilization  upon  the  barbarians. 

In  our  last  lecture,  the  character  which,  on  summing  up, 
appeared  to  us  dominant  and  fundamental  in  the  Salic  law, 
was  that  of  being  a  transitory  legislation,  doubtless  essentially 
German,  yet  distinguished  by  a  Roman  stamp;  whicii  would 
have  no  future ;  and  wliich  showed,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
passage  from  the  German  into  the  Roman  social  state,  and  on 
the  other,  the  decay  and  fusion  of  the  two  elements  fjr  the 
good  of  a  new  society,  to  wliich  tiiey  both  concurred,  and 
which  began  to  appear  amidst  tiieir  wreck. 

This  result  of  the  examination  of  the  Salic  law  will  be 
singularly  confirmed,  if  the  examination  of  the  other  barba- 
rous laws  likewise  lead  us  to  it ;  still  more,  if  we  find  in  these 
various  laws,  different  epochs  of  transition,  different  phases 
of  transformation,  which  may  be  imperfectly  discovered  in  the 
other;  if  we  recognize,  for  example,  that  the  law  of  the  Ripu- 
arians, the  law  of  the  Burgundians,  and  the  law  of  the  Visi- 
goths, are  in  some  measure  placed  in  the  same  career  as  the 
Salic  law,  at  unequal  distances,  and  leave  us,  if  the  term  be 
permitted,  products  more  or  less  advanced  in  the  combination 
of  tiie  German  and  Roman  society,  and  in  the  formation  of 
the  new  state  which  was  to  be  the  result. 

It  is  to  this,  I  believe,  that  the  examination  of  the  three 
laws  will,  in  fact,  conduct  us,  that  is  to  say,  of  all  those  which, 
within  the  limits  of  Gaul,  exercised  any  true  influence.  The 
distinction  between  the  Ripuarian  Franks  and  the  Saliau 
Franks  is  known  to  you ;  these  were  the  two  principal  tribes, 
or  rather  the  two  principal  collections  of  triiies  of  the  greul 
ooiifederation  oi'  the  Franks.     Ti>e   Salian   Franks  probably 


CI^^IMZATION    IN    FKANCE.  20f) 

took  their  name  from  the  river  Yssel  (Ysala),  upon  the  banks 
of  which  they  were  established,  after  the  inovement  of  nationa 
which  had  driven  them  info  Batavia  ;  theJr  name  was  tliere- 
fbre  of  German  origin,  and  w  c  may  suppose  that  it  was  given 
(hem  by  themselves.  The  Ripuarian  Franks,  on  the  con- 
trary, evidently  received  theirs  from  the  Romans.  They 
inhabited  the  banks  of  the  Rhine.  As  the  Salian  Franks 
advanced  towards  the  soutli-west,  into  Belgium  and  Gaul,  the 
Ripuarian  Franks  spread  also  towards  the  west,  and  occupied 
the  territory  between  tlie  Rhine  and  the  Mouse,  to  the  forest 
of  Ardennes.  Tlie  first  became,  or  well  nigh,  the  Franks  of 
Neustria ;  the  last,  the  Franks  of  Austrasia.  These  two  names, 
without  exactly  corresponding  to  the  primitive  distinction, 
reproduce  it  faithfully  enough. 

At  the  beginning  of  our  history,  the  two  tribes  appear  for 
a  time  re-united  in  a  single  nation  and  under  a  single  empire. 
I  will  read  to  you,  upon  this  subject,  the  account  of  Gregory 
of  Tours;  always,  without  his  knowing  it,  the  truest  paintei 
of  the  manners  and  events  of  this  epoch.  You  will  there 
see  what,  at  that  time,  was  understood  by  the  words  union  of 
nations  and  conquest. 

"  When  Clovis  came  to  battle  against  Alaric,  king  of  the 
Gotlis,  he  had  for  an  ally  the  son  of  Sigebert-Claude  (king 
of  the  Ripuarian  Franks,  and  who  resided  at  Cologne),  named 
Chloderic.  This  Sigebert  limped,  from  a  blow  on  the  knee 
which  he  had  received  at  the  battle  of  Tolbiac,  against  the 
Germans.  .  .  .  King  Clovis,  during  his  sojourn  at  Paris,  sent 
secretly  to  the  son  of  Sigebert,  saying  to  him :  '  Your  father 
is  aged,  and  he  limps  with  his  bad  leg :  if  he  should  die,  his 
kingdom  belongs  to  you  of  right,  as  well  as  our  friendship.' 
Seduced  by  this  ambition,  Chloderic  formed  the  project  of 
killing  his  father. 

"  Sigebert  had  gone  out  of  the  town  of  Cologne,  and, 
having  passed  the  Rhine,  was  walking  in  the  forest  of  Bu- 
conia ;  he  slept  at  noon  in  his  tent ;  his  son  sent  assassins 
against  him  and  procured  his  death,  in  the  hope  that  he 
fihculd  possess  his  kingdom.  But,  by  the  judgment  of  God, 
he  fell  into  the  very  grave  which  he  had  maliciously  dug  foi 
his  father.  He  sent  to  king  Clovis  messengers  announcing 
the  death  of  his  father,  and  said  to  him :  '  My  father  is  dead, 
and  I  have  in  my  power  his  treasures  and  his  kingdom.  Send 
to  me  and  I  will  willingly  give  you  what  treasures  you  please.' 
Clovis  returned    for  answer:  'I  return  thee  thanks  for  t}ij 


906  HISTORY    OF 

good  will,  and  pray  thee  show  thy  treasures  to  my  deputies 
after  which  thou  shall  possess  them  all.'  Chloderic  then 
showed  his  father's  treasures  to  the  deputies.  Whilst  they 
examined  them,  the  prince  said  :  '  This  is  the  coffer  in  which 
my  father  was  accustomed  to  amass  his  gold  coin.'  They 
said  to  him,  *  Plunge  your  hand  to  the  bottom,  in  order  to  find 
all.'  Having  done  this,  and  while  he  stooped  low,  one  of  the 
deputies  raised  his  axe  and  broke  his  skull.  Thus  did  this 
unworthy  son  suffer  the  same  death  which  he  had  inflicted 
on  his  father.  Clovis  learning  that  Sigebert  and  his  son  were 
dead,  came  to  this  same  town,  and  having  convoked  all  the 
people,  he  said  to  them  :  '  Listen  to  what  has  happened. 
While  I  was  sailing  upon  the  river  Scheld,  Chloderic,  my 
cousin's  son,  alarmed  his  father  by  telling  him  that  I  wished 
to  kill  him.  As  Sigebert  fled  through  the  forest  of  Buconia, 
Chloderic  sent  murderers  after  liim,  who  put  him  to  death ; 
he  himself  was  assassinated,  I  know  not  by  whom,  at  the 
moment  of  his  opening  his  father's  treasures.  I  am  no  accom- 
plice in  these  things.  I  could  not  shed  the  blood  of  my 
friends,  because  it  is  forbidden  ;  but  since  these  things  have 
happened,  I  have  some  advice  to  give  you.  If  it  is  agreeable 
to  you,  follow  it.  Have  recourse  to  me  ;  put  yourselves  under 
my  protection.'  The  people  answered  these  words  by  plaudits 
of  hand  and  mouth  ;  and  having  raised  him  upon  a  shield, 
they  created  him  their  king.  Clovis  tlien  received  the  king- 
dom and  treasures  of  Sigebert.  Every  day  God  caused  his 
enemies  to  fall  into  his  hands,  and  augmented  his  kingdom, 
because  he  walked  with  an  upright  heart  before  the  Lord, 
and  did  the  things  that  were  pleasing  in  his  sight. "^ 

This  union  of  the  two  nations,  if  such  a  fact  may  bear  the 
name,  was  not  of  long  duration.  On  the  death  of  Clovis,  his 
son,  Theodoric,  was  king  of  the  eastern  Franks ;  that  is 
,0  say,  of  the  Ripuarian  Franks  ;  he  resided  at  Metz.  To 
him  is  generally  attributed  the  compilation  of  their  law. 
This,  in  fact,  is  indicated  by  the  preface  to  the  Gallic  law, 
which  I  have  already  read,  and  which  is  likewise  found  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Bavarian  law.  According  to  this 
tradition,  then,  the  law  of  the  Ripuarians  sliould  be  placed 
between  the  years  511  and  534.  It  could  not  have,  like 
the   Salic,    the   pretension    of  ascending    to   the    right-hand 


I  Gregory  of  Tours,  in  my  Collection  des  Memoires  de  V  Histoire  <ii 
t'raiice,  i.  pp.  ]0J— 107 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FnANCK.  207 

bank  of  the  Rhine,  and  to  ancient  Germany.  Still  its 
antiquity  must  be  great.  I  am  inclined  to  abridge  it,  in 
its  actual  form  at  least,  oi  nearly  a  century  of  existence.  The 
preface,  which  describes  it  as  digested  under  Tlieodoric, 
attributes  to  this  chief  also  the  law  of  the  Germans  ;  now  it 
is  almost  curtain  that  this  was  not  digested  until  the  reign  of 
Clotaire  II.,  between  the  years  613  and  628  ;  this  is  what 
the  best  manuscripts  give  us  reason  to  suppose.  The  author- 
ity of  this  preface,  therefore,  becomes  very  doubtful  witli 
regard  to  the  law  of  the  Ripuarians  ;  and,  after  an  attentive 
comparison  of  the  evidence,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
it  was  only  under  Dagobert  I.,  between  the  years  628 
and  638,  that  it  took  the  definite  form  under  which  it  has 
reached  us. 

Let  us  now  pass  to  the  history  of  its  contents.  I  have 
submitted  it  to  the  same  analysis  as  the  Salic  law.  It  con- 
tains 89  or  91  titles,  and  (according  to  various  distributions) 
221  or  227  articles  ;  namely,  164  of  penal  law,  and  113  of 
political  or  civil  law,  and  civil  or  criminal  procedure.  Of 
the  164  articles  of  penal  law,  we  reckon  94  for  violence 
against  persons,  16  for  cases  of  theft,  and  64  for  various 
ofTences. 

At  the  first  glance,  according  to  this  simple  analysis,  the 
Ripuarian  law  a  good  deal  resembles  the  Salic  law  ;  it  is  also 
an  essentially  penal  legislation,  and  gives  evidence  of  nearly 
the  same  state  of  manners.  Still,  when  regarded  more  closely, 
we  discover  important  difTerences.  I  spoke  to  you  at  our  last 
meeting  of  the  conjuratores,  or  compurgators,  who,  without, 
properly  speaking,  bearing  witness,  came  to  nttest  by  their 
oath  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  the  facts  alleged  by  the  ofTi  nded, 
or  the  olTend'^r.  The  conjuratores  held  a  specially  important 
place  in  the  law  of  the  Ripuarians.  There  is  mention  made  of 
them  in  fifty-eight  articles  of  this  law,  and  on  every  occasion  ii 
minutely  regulates  the  number  of  the  compurgators,  the  forms 
of  their  appearance,  &c.  The  Salic  law  speaks  much  more 
rarely  of  them — so  rarely,  that  some  persons  have  doubted 
whether  the  system  of  the  conjuratores  was  in  force  among 
the  Salian  Franks  This  doubt  does  not  seem  well  founded. 
If  the  Salic  law  has  scarcely  spoken  of  it,  it  is  because  it  looked 
upon  the  system  as  an  established  and  understood  fact,  of 
which  there  was  no  need  to  write.  Besides,  everything 
indicates  that  this  fact  was  real  and  powerful.  What  were 
tlie  reasons  for  its   frequent  insertion  in  the  law  of  the  Ripu- 


208  HISTOEY    OF 

arians  ?  1  will  presently  give  the  only  explanation  of  [h'la 
that  I  can  catch  a  glimpse  of. 

Another  custom  is  also  much  more  frequently  mentioned 
in  the  Ripuarian  than  in  the  Salic  law  ;  I  mean  judicial 
comhat.  There  are  many  traces  of  it  in  the  Salic  law  ;  but 
the  Ripuarian  law  formally  institutes  it  in  six  distinct  articles. 
This  institution,  if  such  a  fact  merits  the  name  of  institution, 
played  too  important  a  part  in  the  middle  ages  to  allow  of  our 
not  endeavoring  to  understand  it  at  the  moment  that  it  appears 
for  the  first  time  in  laws. 

I  have  endeavored  to  show  how  composition — properly 
speaking,  the  only  punishment  of  the  Salic  law — was  a  first 
attempt  to  substitute  a  legal  system  in  place  of  the  right  of 
war,  in  place  of  vengeance,  and  the  contest  of  physical  force. 
Judicial  combat  was  an  attempt  of  the  same  kind  ;  its  aim  was 
to  subdue  war  itself,  individual  vengeance,  to  certain  forms  and 
rules.  Composition  and  judicial  combat  were  intimately  con- 
nected, and  simultaneously  developed  themselves.  A  crime 
liad  been  committed,  a  man  offended  ;  it  was  generally  be- 
lieved that  he  had  a  right  to  revenge  himself,  to  pursue  by 
force  the  reparation  of  the  wrong  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected.  But  a  commencement  of  law,  a  shadow  of  public 
power  interfered,  and  authorized  the  offender  to  offer  a  certain 
sum  to  repair  his  crime.  But,  originally,  the  offended  party 
had  the  right  to  refuse  the  composition,  and  to  say — "  I 
will  exercise  my  right  of  vengeance,  I  desire  war."  Then 
the  legislator,  or  rather  the  customs,  for  we  personify,  under 
the  name  legislator,  mere  customs  which  for  a  long  period 
had  no  legnl  authority,  the  customs  then  interfered,  saying 
— "  If  you  wish  to  revenge  yourself,  and  make  war  upon 
your  enemy,  you  must  do  so  according  to  certain  terms,  and  in 
the  presence  of  certain  witnesses." 

Thus  was  judicial  combat  introduced  into  the  legislation  as 
a  regulation  of  the  right  of  war,  a  limited  arena  opened  to 
vengeance.  Such  was  its  first  and  true  source  ;  the  recourse 
to  tlie  judgment  of  God,  the  truth  proclaiiiKid  by  God  him- 
self  in  the  issue  of  the  combat,  are  ideas  whose  association 
with  it  is  of  later  date,  when  religious  creeds  and  the  Christian 
clergy  played  an  important  part  in  the  thought  and  life  of  the 
barbarians.  Originally,  judicial  combat  was  only  a  legal  form 
of  the  right  of  the  strongest — a  form  much  more  explicitly 
'ecognized  in  the  law  of  the  Ripuarians  than  in  the  Salic  law. 

Judging   from   the   two   differences,  one    would  be,  for  thf 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  209 

moment,  inclined  to  suppose  that  the  first  of  these  two  laws 
was  tlie  most  ancient.  In  fact,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
tlio  system  of  the  conjuratores  and  judicial  combat  belonged  to 
the  primitive  German  society.  The  Ilipuarian,  therefore, 
would  seem  tlieir  most  faithful  image.  It  was  nothing  of  the 
hind.  And,  first,  these  two  differences,  which  seemed  to 
give  to  this  law  a  more  barbarous  physiognomy,  themselves 
indicate  an  efibrt,  a  first  step  out  of  barbarism,  for  they  give 
evidence  of  the  design,  if  not  to  abolish  it,  at  all  events  to 
regulate  it. 

Silence  upon  this  subject  leaves  all  things  under  the  em- 
pire  of  custom — that  is  to  say,  of  violence  and  chance  :  the 
Ripuarian  law  attempted  in  writing,  by  determining  the 
custom,  to  convert  it  into  law — that  is  to  say,  to  render  it 
fixed  and  general.  A  certain  symptom  of  a  more  modern 
date,  and  of  a  society  rather  more  advanced. 

Besides,  there  were  other  differences  between  these  two 
laws  which  incontcstably  prove  this  result. 

1st,  You  have  seen,  by  tlie  simple  enumeration  of  the 
articles,  that  civil  law  held  a  greater  place  in  the  Ripuarian 
than  in  the  Salic  law.  There  penal  law  always  dominated. 
Still  the  law  is  less  exclusively  a  penal  code  ;  the  procedure, 
tlie  rule  of  evidence,  the  state  of  persons,  property  and  its 
various  modes  of  transmission — in  a  word,  all  parts  of  legisla- 
tion not  penal,  are,  at  least,  indicated  in  it,  and  often  with  a 
great  deal  of  precision. 

2d,  Moreover,  and  this  is  an  important  fact,  royalty 
appeared  more  in  the  Ripuarian  law  than  in  the  other.  It 
appeared  but  little  in  a  political  relation  :  it  was  not  a  question 
of  royal  power,  nor  the  manner  of  exercising  it ;  but  it  was 
a  question  of  the  Iting,  as  of  an  individual  more  important 
in  all  respects,  and  witli  wliom  the  law  should  specially 
^ccupy  itself.  It  regarded  him,  above  all,  as  a  proprietor  or 
patron,  as  having  vast  domains,  and  upon  these  domams  serfs 
who  cultivated  them — men  engaged  in  his  service  or  placed 
under  his  protection  ;  and  by  reason  of  this  title  they  accorded 
to  him,  to  himself  or  those  belonging  to  him,  numerous  and 
very  important  privileges.      I  will  give  a  few  examples. 

"  I.  If  any  one  carry  off"  by  violence  anything  belonging  to 
one  of  the  king's  men,  or  to  any  one  attached  to  the  church, 
he  shall  pay  a  composition  treble  what  he  would  have  had  tu 
pay  had  the  crime  been  committed  towards  any  other  Ripu 
arian."— Tit  xi.  §  4. 


210  HISTORY    OF 

"II.  If  the  crime  be  committed  by  a  man  attached  to  the 
church,  or  to  one  of  the  king's  domains,  he  shall  pay  half  tlie 
composition  which  another  Frank  would  have  paid.  In  case 
of  denial,  he  must  appear  with  thirty-six  compurgators." — 
Tit.  xviii.  §  5. 

"  III.  A  man  attached  to  the  domains  of  the  king,  Roman 
or  freedman,  cannot  be  the  object  of  a  capital  accusation."— 
Tit.  Ix.  §  22. 

**  IV.  If  he  be  summoned  to  appear  in  justice,  he  shall 
make  known  his  condition  by  a  declaration  whicli  ho  shall 
affirm  upon  the  altar  ;  after  which  proceedings  with  regard 
to  him  shall  be  different  from  those  with  legard  to  the  Ripu- 
arians."— Ibid.  §  23. 

V.  Slaves  belonging  to  the  king  or  to  a  church  do  not 
plead  by  means  of  a  defender ;  but  they  defend  themselves, 
and  are  allowed  to  justify  themselves  by  oath,  without  being 
obliged  to  answer  the  summonses  which  may  be  addressed  to 
them."— Ibid.  §  24. 

"VI.  If  any  one  shall  seek  to  overthrow  a  royal  charter 
without  being  able  to  produce  another  repealing  the  first,  he 
shall  answer  this  attempt  with  his  life." — Tit.  Ivii.  §  7. 

"  VII.  Whoever  shall  commit  treason  towards  the  king 
shall  forfeit  his  life,  and  all  his  goods  shall  be  confiscated." — 
Tit.  Ixxi.  §  1. 

The  Salic  law  says  nothing  of  this  kind  ;  here  royalty  has 
evidently  p:\ade  an  important  progress. 

3d.  The  same  difTerence  exists  between  the  two  laws  with 
regard  to  the  church  ;  the  articles  which  I  have  just  read 
completely  prove  it ;  the  church  is  everywhere  assimilated  to 
royalty ;  the  same  privileges  are  accorded  to  her  lands  and 
her  laborers. 

4th.  One  discovers,  also,  in  the  Ripuarian  law,  a  rather 
more  marked  influence  of  the  Roman  law  ;  it  does  not  confine 
itself  to  mentioning  it  merely  in  order  to  say  that  the  Romans 
lived  under  its  empire  ;  it  accepts  some  of  its  provisions. 
Thus,  in  regulating  tlie  formulaj  of  enfranchisement,  it  says  : 

"  We  desire  that  every  Ripuarian  Frank,  or  freedman, 
who,  for  the  good  of  his  soul,  or  for  a  sum,  wishes  to  free  his 
slaves  in  the  forms  indicated  by  the  Roman  law,  present  him- 
self at  the  church,  before  the  priests,  deacons,  and  all  the 
clergy  and  people.  .  .  ."  (The  formulae  of  enfranchisenien/ 
follow.)— Tit.  Ix.  §1. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  2li 

This,  tlioiigh  a  slight,  is  a  real  indication  of  a  more  ad- 
vanced society. 

5th.  Lastly,  when  we  read  the  Ripuarian  law  attentively 
in  its  whole,  we  are  struck  with  a  character  less  barbarous 
than  that  of  the  Salic  law.  The  provisions  are  more  precisr- 
and  extensive  ;  we  discover  more  purpose  in  them,  and  pur. 
pose  more  matured  and  political,  and  inspired  by  more  univer- 
-fal  views.  They  are  not  always  mere  customs  which  they 
digest ;  the  legislators  say  at  times,  '<  We  establish,  we 
order.'"  In  fact,  everything  indicates  that  this  legislation,  if 
not  in  its  form,  at  least  in  the  ideas  and  manners  which  are 
its  foundation,  belongs  to  a  posterior  epoch,  to  a  state  some- 
what less  barbarous,  and  shows  a  new  step  in  the  transition 
from  the  German  to  the  Roman  society,  and  from  these  two 
societies  to  a  new  society  arising  from  their  amalgamation.    ^ 

From  the  law  of  the  Ripuarians  let  us  pass  to  that  of  the 
Burgundians,  and  let  us  see  if  we  shall  there  find  the  same 
fact. 

The  compilation  of  the  law  of  the  Burgundians  fluctuates 
between  the  year  4G7  or  469,  the  second  of  the  reign  of  Gon- 
debald,  and  the  year  534,  the  time  of  the  fall  of  this  kingdom 
under  the  arms  of  the  Franks.  Three  parts,  probably  of  dif- 
ferent  dates,  compose  this  law.  The  first,  which  compre- 
hends the  first  forty-one  titles,  evidently  belongs  to  king  Goni 
debald,  and  appears  to  have  been  published  before  the  year 
501.  From  the  forty-second  title,  the  character  of  the  legis- 
lation  changes.  The  new  laws  are  scarcely  anything  more 
than  modifications  of  the  old  ones ;  they  explain,  reform, 
complete,  and  announce  them  definitely.  From  the  conside- 
ration of  many  facts,  into  the  details  of  which  I  shall  not 
enter  here,  one  is  inclined  to  believe  that  tliis  second  part  was 
digested  and  published  towards  the  year  517,  by  Sigismond, 
the  successor  of  Gondebald.  Lastly,  two  supplements  form 
a  third  part,  added  to  the  law,  under  the  positive  name  of 
Addilamenta,  probably  also  I)y  Sigismond,  who  died  in  523. 

The  preface,  placed  in  front  of  the  text,  confirms  these 
conjectures  ;  it  is  evidently  composed  of  two  prefaces  of  dif- 
ferent epochs  ;  one  by  King  Gondebald,  and  the  other  by 
King  Sigismond.  Some  manuscripts  have  attributed  the  lat- 
ter also  to  Gondebald  ;  but  those  which  give  it  to  Sigismond 
certainly  merit  the  preference. 


»  Tit  Ixxvi.  §l,lit.  xc. 
84 


'i\ii  HISTORY    OF 

This  preface  throws  light  upon  questions  much  more  im 
portant  than  tlie  date  of  tlie  law,  and  at  once  clearly  distin 
guishes  it  from  the  two  laws  which  have  just  occupied  oiii 
attention.  It  is  necessary  that  I  should  read  it  to  you  througii- 
out. 

"  The  most  glorious  king  of  the  Burgundians,  after  having, 
(()r  the  interest  and  repose  of  our  people,  deliberately  reflected 
upon  our  institutions  and  those  of  our  ancestors,  and  upon 
what,  in  every  matter  and  every  business,  is  expedient  f(jr 
honesty,  regularity,  reason,  and  justice,  we  have  weighed  all 
this  in  our  great  assemblies ;  and  as  much  by  our  advice  as 
theirs,  we  have  ordered  the  following  statutes  to  be  written, 
to  the  end  that  the  laws  may  remain  eternal : — 

*'  By  the  grace  of  God,  in  tiio  second  year  of  the  most 
glorious  Lord  King  Sigisniond,  the  book  of  ordinances  touch- 
ing the  eternal  maintenance  of  the  laws  past  and  present,  made 
at  Lyons  on  the  4th  day  of  the  calends  of  April. 

"  By  love  of  justice,  through  which  God  becomes  favorable 
to  us,  and  by  which  weac(juire  power  upon  eartii,  having  first 
held  counsel  with  our  counts  and  nobles,  we  have  applied  our- 
selves  to  regulate  all  things  in  such  a  manner  that  integrity 
and  justice  in  judgments  may  dispel  all  corruption.  All 
those  who  are  in  power,  counting  from  this  day,  nmst  judge 
between  the  Burgundian  and  tlie  Roman  according  to  the 
tenor  of  our  laws,  composed  and  amended  by  common  accord  ; 
in  such  manner  that  no  person  shall  hope  or  dare,  in  a  judg- 
ment or  law-suit,  to  receive  anything  of  one  of  the  parties  by 
way  of  gift  or  advantage  ;  but  that  tiie  party  having  justice 
on  his  side  s-hall  obtain  it,  and  that  to  this  end  the  integrity  of 
the  judge  shall  suffice.  We  think  it  our  duty  to  impose  this 
duty  on  ourselves,  to  the  end  that  no  one,  in  what  case  soever, 
shall  tempt  our  integrity  by  solicitations  or  presents,  thus, 
from  love  of  justice,  repelling  far  from  ourselves,  what, 
throughout  our  kingdoms,  we  interdict  all  judges  from  doing. 
Our  treasury  shall  no  longer  pretend  to  exact  more  as  penalty 
than  is  found  established  in  the  laws.  Let  the  nobles,  counts, 
counsellors,  domestics,  and  mayors  of  our  house,  the  chancel- 
lors and  counts  of  cities  and  districts,  both  Burgundians  and 
Romans,  as  well  as  all  deputy  judges,  even  in  case  of  war, 
know  then  that  they  are  to  receive  nothing  for  causes  treated 
or  judged  before  them;  and  that  they  shall  ask  nothing  of  the 
parties  l)y  way  of  promise  or  rccoriipenso.  I'he  parliia  shall 
ri',)t  be  forced  to  compound  with  the  judge  in  such  a  maniiei 


CJ  V^ILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  213 

that  he  shall  receive  anything.  If  any  of  the  said  judges 
nliow  themselves  to  be  corrupted,  and,  despite  our  laws,  be 
convicted  of  receiving  a  recompense  in  a  law-suit  or  judg- 
ment, however  justly  tried,  for  the  example  of  all,  if  the  crime 
be  proved,  let  him  be  punished  with  death,  in  such  a  manner, 
however,  that  he  who  is  convicted  of  venality,  having  been 
punished  Iiimself,  his  possessions  be  not  taken  from  his  chil- 
dren or  legitimate  heirs.  With  regard  to  the  secretaries  of 
deputy  judges,  we  think  that,  for  their  fee  in  cases,  a  third  of 
a  peimy  should  bo  allowed  them  in  causes  above  ten  solidi ; 
below  that  sum  they  must  demand  less.  The  crime  of  venality 
being  interdicted  under  the  same  penalties,  we  order  that 
llomans  be  judged  according  to  Roman  laws,  as  was  done  by 
our  ancestors  ;  and  let  these  latter  know  that  they  shall 
receive  in  writing  the  form  and  tenor  of  the  laws  according 
to  which  they  shall  be  judged  ;  to  the  end  that  no  person  can 
excuse  himself  upon  the  score  of  ignorance.  As  regards 
what  may  have  been  ill-judged  formerly,  the  tenor  of  the 
ancient  law  must  be  preserved.  We  add  this,  that  if  a  judge 
accused  of  corruption  cannot  in  any  way  be  convicted,  the 
accuser  shall  be  liable  to  the  penalty  which  we  have  ordered 
to  be  inflicted  upon  a  prevaricating  judge. 

"  If  some  point  be  found  unprovided  for  in  our  laws,  wc  order 
that  it  bo  referred  to  our  judgment,  upon  that  point  only.  If 
any  judge,  whether  barbarian  or  Roman,  through  simplicity  or 
neglifcncc,  judge  not  a  cause  upon  which  our  law  has  deter- 
mined, and  if  he  be  exem})t  from  corruption,  let  him  know 
that  he  shall  pay  thirty  Roman  solidi,  and  that  ihe  parties 
being  interrogated,  the  cause  shall  be  judged  anew.  We  add 
tliat  if,  after  having  been  summoned  three  times,  the  judges 
decide  not ;  and  if  he  whose  cause  it  is  thinks  it  should  be 
referred  to  us  ;  and  if  he  prove  that  he  has  summoned  his 
judges  three  times,  and  has  no  been  heard,  the  judge  shall 
be  condemned  to  a  fine  of  twelve  solidi.  But  if  any  person, 
in  any  case  whatsoever,  having  neglected  to  summon  the 
judges  three  times,  as  we  have  prescrib'^d,  dares  to  address 
himself  to  us,  he  shall  pay  the  fine  which  we  have  established 
for  a  tardy  judge.  And  in  order  that  a  cause  may  not  be 
delayed  by  the  absence  of  the  deputy  judges,  let  no  Roman 
or  Burgundian  count  presume  to  judge  a  cause  in  the  absence 
of  the  judge  before  whom  it  should  be  tried,  to  the  end  that 
those  who  have  recourse  to  the  law  may  not  be  uncertain  as 
to  the  jurisdiction.     It  has  pleased   us  to  confirm  this  .series 


214  HISTORY    OF 

of  our  ordinances  by  the  signature  of  the  counts,  t;  tlie  eiA 
that  the  rule  which  has  been  written  by  our  will,  and  the  will 
of  all,  be  preserved  by  posterity,  and  have  the  solidity  of  an 
eternal  compact."  (Here  follow  the  signatures  of  thirty-twc 
counts.) 

Without  going  further,  from  this  preface  only  the  difler- 
ence  of  the  three  laws  is  evident ;  this  latter  is  not  a  mere 
collection  of  customs,  we  know  not  by  whom  digested,  nor 
at  what  epoch,  nor  with  what  view  ;  it  is  a  work  of  legisla- 
tion,  emanating  from  a  regular  power,  with  a  view  to  public 
order,  which  otfers  some  truly  political  characteristics,  and 
gives  evidences  of  a  government,  or,  at  least,  the  design  of  a 
government. 

Let  us  now  enter  into  the  law  itself  j  it  does  not  belie  the 
preface. 

It  contains  110  titles,  and  354  articles,  namely:  142  arti- 
cles  of  civil  law,  30  of  civil  or  criminal  procedure,  and  182 
of  penal  law.  The  penal  law  is  divided  into  72  articles  for 
crimes  against  persons,  62  for  crimes  against  property,  and 
44  for  various  crimes. 

These  are  the  principal  results  to  which  we  are  conducted 
by  the  examination  of  the  provisions  thus  classified: 

I.  The  condition  of  the  Burgundian  and  the  Roman  is  tl;e 
same ;  all  legal  difference  has  vanished  :  in  civil  or  criminal 
matters,  whether  as  offended  or  offenders,  they  are  placed 
upon  a  footing  of  equality.  The  texts  abound  in  proofs  of  it. 
I  select  some  of  the  most  striking  : — 

1.  "Let  the  Burgundian  and  the  Roman  be  subjected  to 
the  same  condition." — Tit.  x.  §  1. 

2.  *'  If  a  young  Roman  girl  be  united  to  a  Burgundiai? 
without  the  consent  or  knowledge  of  her  parents,  let  her 
know  that  she  shall  receive  none  of  her  parents'  possessions." 
—Tit.  xii.  §  5. 

3.  "  If  any  free  Burgundian  enter  into  a  house  for  any 
quarrel,  let  him  pay  six  soluli  to  the  master  of  the  house, 
and  twelve  solidi  as  a  fine.  We  wish  in  this  that  the  same 
condition  be  imposed  upon  the  Romans  and  the  Burgundians," 
—Tit.  XV.  §  1. 

4  "  If  any  rnan,  travelling  on  his  private  business,  arrive 
at  the  house  of  a  Burgundian  and  demand  hospitality  of  him, 
and  if  the  Burgundian  show  him  the  house  of  a  Roman,  and 
this  can  be  proved,  let  the  Burgundian  pay  three  solidi  to  hito 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  2lb 

whose  house  !ie  pointed  out,  and  three  solidi  by  way  of  fine." 
— Tit.  xxxviii.  §  6. 

These  reguhitions  certainly  exhibit  care  to  maintain  the 
two  people  on  the  same  footing.  We  thus  read  in  Gregory 
of  Tours:  "King  Gondcbald  instituted,  in  the  country  now 
named  Burgundy,  the  most  mild  laws,  in  order  that  the  Ro- 
mans might  not  be  oppressed.'" 

II.  The  penal  law  of  the  Burgundians  is  not  the  same  as 
that  of  the  Franks.  Composition  had  always  existed  in  it, 
but  it  was  no  longer  the  sole  penalty  ;  corporal  penalties  ap- 
peared ;  we  find  also  certain  moral  penalties ;  the  legislator 
attempted  to  make  use  of  shame.'^  Already,  even,  it  invented 
strange  punishments,  such  as  are  so  often  found  in  the  legis- 
lation of  the  middle  ages.  If,  for  example,  a  hunting  spar- 
row-hawk was  stolen,  the  robber  was  condemned  to  let  the 
sparrow-hawk  eat  six  ounces  of  flesh  from  his  body,  or  to  pay 
six  solidi.  This  is  but  a  piece  of  fantastical  savageness  ;  but 
it  indicated  attempts  at  punishment  very  different  from  the 
ancient  German  customs.  The  difference  manifests  itself 
also  by  other  symptoms ;  crimes  are  much  more  various, 
fewer  of  them  are  against  persons,  and  we  see  some  arise 
which  bespeak  more  regular  and  complicated  social  relations. 

III.  Civil  right  and  procedure  also  occupy  a  much  greater 
place  in  the  law  of  the  Burgundians  than  in  the  two  preced- 
ing laws.  They  form  the  subject  of  nearly  half  the  articles  ; 
in  the  law  of  the  Ripuarians  they  only  occupy  two-fifths,  and 
ot)ly  the  sixth  of  the  Salic  law.  One  need  only  open  the 
laws  of  Gondebald  and  Sigisinund  in  order  to  perceive  there 
a  multitude  of  provisions  upon  successions,  testaments,  be- 
quests, marriages,  contracts,  &c. 

IV.  One  even  meets  there  with  some  positive  marks  of  the 
Roman  law.  We  could  scarcely  discover  any  traces  of  such 
a  fact  in  the  Ripuarian  law ;  here  it  is  plainly  visible,  par- 
ticularly in  what  concerns  civil  law  ;  nothing  can  be  more 
simple  ;  civil  law  was  rare  and  weak  in  barbarous  laws;  from 
the  time  that  the  progress  of  civil  relations  furnished  the  mat- 
ter, as  it  were,  it  was  from  the  Roman  legislation  that  they 
were  obliged  to  borrow  the  form. 

Here  are  two  provisions  where  the  imitation  is  certain : 


'  Tom.  i.,  p   96,  of  my  Collection  des  Mimoires  relatifs  d  FHia 
icnre  de  France. 

'  See  the  first  Supplement,  tit.  x. 


816  HISTOBY   OF 

1.  1. 

"  If  a  Burgundian  woman,  after  "  Let  no  person  be  ignorintlhal 
the  death  of  her  husband,  enters,  if  women,  the  lawful  time  being 
aa  happens,  into  a  second  or  a  passed,  enter  into  a  second  mar- 
third  marriage,  and  if  she  has  sons  riage,  having  children  by  the  form- 
by  each  marriage,  let  her  possess  in  er  marriage,  they  shall  preserve, 
usufruct,  while  she  lives,'  the  during  their  life,  the  usufruct  of 
nuptial  donation;  but  after  her  what  they  received '^at  the  time  of 
death,  each  of  her  sons  shall  come  their  marriage,  the  property  com- 
Into  the  possession  of  what  his  fa-  ing  entire  to  their  children,  to 
ther  gave  to  his  mother;  and  thus  whom  the  most  sacred  laws  pre- 
tho  woman  has  no  right  to  give,  serve  tlie  riglit  of  it  after  tiicir  pa- 
sell,  or  alienate  anything  that  she  rents'  death." — Cod.  Theod.,  liv 
received  as  a  nuptial  donation." —  iii.  tit.  viii.  1.  3 ;  Ibid.  1.  2 
Tit.  xxiv.  §  1. 

2.  2. 

"  Bequests  and  testaments  made        "  In  codicils  that  are  not  preced- 
among  our  people  shall  be  valid  ed  by  a  testament,  as  in  wills,  tha 
when  five  or  seven  witnesses  have  mediation  of  five  or  seven  witness- 
set  thereto,  as  best  they  can,  their  es  must  never  be  wanting." — Cod 
«eal  or  sisinature." — Tit.  xliii.  §  2.  Theod.  liv.  iv.,  tit.  iii.  1.  1 

I  might  indicate  other  apparent  analogies. 

V.  Lastly,  the  law  of  the  Burgundians  clearly  shows  that 
royalty  had  made  great  progress  among  that  people.  Not 
that  it  is  more  in  question  there  than  elsewhere ;  it  was  not 
in  question  at  all  in  a  political  point  of  view;  the  Burgundian 
law  is  the  least  political  of  the  barbarian  laws,  the  one  which 
most  exclusively  confines  itself  to  penal  and  civil  law,  and 
contains  the  fewest  allusions  to  general  government ;  but  by 
this  law  in  its  whole,  by  its  preface,  and  by  the  tone  and  spirit 
of  its  compilation,  one  is  reminded  at  every  step  that  the  king 
is  no  longer  merely  a  warrior  chief,  or  merely  a  great  pro- 
prietor ;  and  that  royalty  has  left  its  barbarous  condition,  in 
order  to  become  a  public  power. 

You  see  all  this  gives  evidence  of  a  more  developed  and 
better  regulated  society ;  the  Roman  element  prevails  more 
and  more  over  the  barbarous  element ;  we  visibly  advance  in 
the  transition  from  one  to  the  other,  or  rather  in  the  work  of 
fusion  which  is  to  combine  them  together.  What  the  Bur- 
gundians  appear  to  have  chiefly  borrowed  from  the  Roman 
empire,  independently  of  some  traits  of  civil  law,  is  the  idea 
of  public  order,  of  government  properly  so  called  ;  hardly  can 
H'e  catch  a  glimpse  of  any  trace  of  the  ancient  German  asaem- 


•  Dum  advivit  usufructu  possideat. 

"  Dum  adoixcrit  in  usufructu  jwisideat  {Interpret.^ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  217 

blies ;  the  influence  of  the  clergy  does  not  appear  dominant ; 
It  was  royalty  which  prevailed,  and  strove  to  reproduce  tliP 
imperial  power. 

Tlie  Burgundian  kings  seem  to  have  the  most  completely 
followed  the  emperors  and  reigned  after  their  model.  Per- 
haps the  cause  should  be  sought  for  in  the  date  of  their  king, 
dom,  which  was  one  of  the  earliest  founded,  while  the  organi. 
zation  of  the  empire  still  existed,  or  nearly  so ;  perhaps,  also, 
their  establishment,  enclosed  within  narrower  limits  than  those 
of  fho  Visigoths  or  the  Franks,  may  have  promptly  invested 
it  with  a  more  regular  form.  However  this  may  be,  the  fact 
is  certain,  and  cliaracterizes  the  nation  and  its  legislation. 

It  continued  in  vigor  after  the  Burgundians  had  passed 
under  the  yoke  of  the  Franks;  the  formulas  of  Marculf  and 
the  capitularies  of  Ciiarlemagne  prove  it.'  We  find  it  even 
formally  mentioned  in  the  ninth  century  by  the  bishops 
Agobard  and  Hincmar ;  but  few  men,  they  observe,  now  live 
under  this  law. 

III.  The  destiny  of  the  law  of  the  Visigoths  was  more  im- 
portant,  and  of  greater  duration.  It  formed  a  considerable 
collection,  entitled  Foriun  judicum,  and  was  successively 
digested,  from  the  year  4G6,  the  epoch  of  the  accession  of 
king  Euric,  who  resided  at  Toulouse,  to  the  year  701,  the 
time  of  the  death  of  Egica  or  Egiza,  who  resided  at  Toledo. 
This  statement  alone  announces  that,  in  this  interval,  great 
changes  must  have  taken  place  in  the  situation  of  the  people 
for  whom  the  law  was  made.  The  Visigoths  were  first 
established  in  the  south  of  Gaul;  it  was  in  507  tiiat  Clovis 
drove  them  hence,  and  took  from  them  all  Aquitaine ;  they 
only  preserved  on  the  north  of  the  Pyrenees  a  Septimani. 
The  legislation  of  the  Visigoths,  therefore,  is  of  no  importance 
in  the  history  of  our  civilization  until  this  epoch ;  in  later 
times,  Spain  is  almost  solely  interested  in  it.  ^ 

While  he  reigned  at  Toulouse,  Euric  caused  the  customs 
of  the  Goths  to  be  written ;  his  successor,  Alaric,  who  was 
killed  by  Clovis,  collected  and  published  the  laws  of  his  Ro- 
man subjects  under  the  name  ot  Breviarium.  The  Visigoths, 
then,  at  the  commencement  of  the  sixth  century,  were  in  the 
same  situation  as  the  Burgundians  and  the  Franks ;  the  bar. 
barons  law  and  the  Roman  law  were  distinct ;  each  nation 
retained  its  own. 

»  Marculf t  b.  i.,  f.  8 ;  capit.  2  a  813.     Baluze,  1505 


218  HISTORY    OF 

When  the  Visigoths  were  driven  into  Spam,  tnis  state  wat 
altered  j  their  king,  Chindasuinthe  (642-652),  fused  the  two 
laws  into  one,  and  formally  abolished  the  Roman  law  ;  there 
was  from  that  time  but  one  code,  and  one  nation.  Thus  was 
substituted  among  the  Visigoths  the  system  of  real  laws,  or 
according  to  territory,  in  the  place  of  personal  laws,  or  ac- 
cording to  origin  or  races.  This  last  had  prevailed  and  slill 
prevailed  among  all  barbarous  nations,  when  Chindasuinthe 
abolished  it  from  among  the  Visigoths.  But  it  was  in  Spain 
that  this  revolution  was  completed ;  it  was  there  that  from 
Chindasuinthe  to  Egica  (642-701)  the  Forum  judicum  was 
developed,  completed,  and  took  the  form  under  whicii  we  now 
see  )t.  As  long  as  the  Visigoths  occupied  the  south  of  Gaul, 
the  compilation  of  their  ancient  customs  and  the  Breviariwn 
alone  ruled  the  country.  Tiie  Forum  judicum  has,  therefore, 
for  France,  only  an  indirect  interest ;  still  it  was  for  some 
time  in  vigor  in  a  small  portion  of  southern  Gaul ;  it  occupies 
a  great  place  in  the  general  history  of  barbarous  laws,  and 
figures  there  as  a  very  remarkable  phenomenon.  Let  me, 
therefore,  make  you  acquainted  with  its  character  and  its 
whole. 

The  law  of  the  Visigoths  is  incomparably  more  extensive 
than  any  of  those  which  have  just  occupied  our  attention. 
It  is  composed  of  a  title  which  serves  as  a  preface,  and  twelve 
books,  divided  into  54  titles,  in  which  are  comprehended  595 
articles,  or  distinct  laws  of  various  origins  and  date.  All  the 
laws  enacted  or  reformed  by  the  Visigoth  kings,  from  Euric 
to  Egica,  are  contained  in  this  collection. 

All  legislative  matters  are  there  met  with  ;  it  is  not  a  col- 
lection of  ancient  customs,  nor  a  first  attempt  at  civil  reform; 
it  is  a  universal  code,  a  code  of  political,  civil,  and  criminal 
law  :  a  code  systematically  digested,  with  the  view  of  provid- 
ing for  all  the  requisites  of  society.  It  is  not  only  a  code,  a 
totality  of  legislative  provisions,  but  it  is  also  a  system  of 
philosophy,  a  doctrine.  It  is  preceded  by,  and  here  and  there 
mixed  with  dissertations  upon  the  origin  of  society,  the  nature 
>f  power,  civil  organization,  and  the  composition  and  publica- 
tion of  laws,  and  not  only  is  it  a  system,  but  also  a  collectioh 
of  moral  exhortations,  menaces,  and  advice.  The  Formn 
judicum,  in  a  word,  bears  at  once  a  legislative,  philosophical, 
and  religious  character;  it  partakes  of  the  several  properties 
3f  a  law,  a  science,  and  a  sermon. 

The  course  is  simple  enough  ;  the  law  of  the  Visigoths  wua 


CIVlLIZAriON    IK    FUANCE.  210 

ihn  work  of  the  clergy ;  it  emanated  from  the  cour  cils  of 
Toledo.  The  councils  of  Toledo  were  the  nationa.  assemblies 
of  the  Spanish  monarchy.  Spain  has  tliis  singular  charac- 
teristic, that,  from  the  earliest  period  of  its  history,  the  clergy 
played  a  much  greater  part  in  it  than  elsewhere  ;  what  the 
fluid  of  Mars  or  May  was  to  the  Franks,  what  ihe  VVitten- 
agemote  to  the  Anglo-Saxons,  and  what  the  general  assembly 
of  I'avia  was  to  the  Lombards,  such  were  the  councils  of 
Toledo  to  the  Visigoths  of  Spain.  It  was  there  that  the  laws 
were  digested,  and  all  the  great  national  affairs  debated. 
Thus,  the  clergy  was,  so  to  speak,  the  centre  around  which 
grouped  royalty,  the  lay  aristocracy,  the  people  and  the 
whole  of  society.  The  Visigoth  code  is  evidently  the  work 
of  the  ecclesiastics  ;  it  has  the  vices  and  the  merits  of  their 
spirit;  it  is  incomparably  more  rational,  just,  mild,  and 
exact;  it  understands  much  better  the  rights  of  humanity,  the 
duties  of  government,  and  the  interests  of  society  ;  and  it 
strives  to  attain  a  much  more  elevated  aim  than  any  other  of 
the  barbarous  legislations.  But,  at  the  same  time,  it  leaves 
society  much  more  devoid  of  guarantees ;  it  abandons  it  on 
one  side  to  the  clergy,  and  on  the  other  to  royalty.  The 
Frank,  Saxon,  Lombard,  and  even  Burgundian  laws,  respect 
the  guarantees  arising  from  ancient  manners,  of  individual 
independence,  the  rights  of  each  proprietor  in  his  domains, 
he  participation,  more  or  less  regular,  and  more  or  less  exten- 
jive,  of  freemen  in  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  in  judgments, 
and  in  the  conduct  of  the  acts  of  civil  life.  In  the  Forum 
judicum,  almost  all  these  traces  of  the  primitive  German 
society  have  disappeared  ;  a  vast  administration,  semi-ecclesi- 
astical and  semi-imperial,  extends  over  society.  I  surely  need 
not  observe,  for  your  thoughts  will  have  outrun  my  words, 
that  this  is  a  new  and  prodigious  step  in  the  route  on  which 
we  proceed.  Since  we  have  studied  the  barbarous  laws,  we 
advance  more  and  more  towards  the  same  result,  the  fusion  of 
the  two  societies  becomes  more  and  more  general  and  profound  ; 
and  in  this  fusion,  in  proportion  as  it  was  brought  about,  the 
Roman  element,  whether  civil  or  religious,  dominated  more 
and  more.  The  Ripuarian  law  is  less  German  than  the  Salic  ; 
the  law  of  the  Burgundians  less  so  than  tiie  Ripuarian  law ; 
and  the  law  of  the  Visigoths  still  less  so  than  that  of  the  Bur- 
gundians.  It  is  evidently  in  this  direction  that  the  river  flows, 
towards  this  aim  that  the  progress  of  events  tends, 

yingular  spectacle !     Just  now  we  were  in  the  last  age  o( 


220  HISTORY    OF 

Roman  civilization,  and  found  it  in  full  decline,  without 
strength,  fertility,  or  splendor,  incapable,  as  it  were,  of  sub- 
sisting J  conquered  and  ruined  by  barbarians  ;  now  all  of  a 
sudden  it  reappears,  powerful  and  fertile ;  it  exercises  a  pro- 
digious  influence  over  the  institutions  and  manners  wiiich 
associate  thsmselves  with  it;  it  gradually  impresses  on  them 
its  character  ;  it  dominates  over  and  transforms  its  conquerora. 

Two  causes,  among  many  others,  produced  this  result ;  the 
power  of  a  civil  legislation,  strong  and  closely  knit  j  and  the 
natural  ascendency  of  civilization  ovtir  barbarism. 

In  fixing  themselves  and  becoming  pruj)rietors,  the  bar- 
barians contracted,  among  themselves,  and  with  the  Romans, 
relations  much  more  varied  and  more  durable,  than  any 
they  had  hitherto  known ;  tlieir  civil  existence  became  much 
more  extensive  and  permanent.  The  Roman  law  alone  could 
regulate  it;  that  alone  was  prepared  to  provide  for  so  many 
relations.  The  barbarians,  even  in  preserving  their  customs, 
even  while  remaining  masters  of  the  country,  found  them- 
selves  taken,  so  to  speak,  in  the  nets  of  this  learned  legis- 
lation, and  found  themselves  obliged  to  submit,  in  a  great 
measure,  doubtless  not  in  a  political  point  of  view,  but  in 
civil  matters,  to  the  new  social  order.  Besides,  the  mere 
sight  of  Roman  civilization  exercised  great  influence  on  their 
ima<iination.  VVIiat  now  moves  ourselves,  what  we  seek  with 
eagerness  in  history,  poems,  travels,  novels,  is  the  represen- 
tation of  a  society  foreign  to  the  regularity  of  our  own  ;  it  ia 
the  savage  life,  its  independence,  novelty,  and  adventures 
Very  difF;rent  were  the  impressions  of  the  barbarians  ;  it 
was  civilization  which  struck  them,  which  seemed  to  them 
great  and  marvellous ;  the  remains  of  Roman  activity,  the 
cities,  roads,  aqueducts,  and  amphitheatres,  all  that  society 
so  regular,  so  provident,  and  so  varied  in  its  fixedness — 
these  were  the  objects  of  their  astoi  ishment  and  admira- 
tion.  Although  conquerors,  they  felt  themselves  inferior  to 
the  conquered  ;  the  barbarian  might  despise  the  Roman  in- 
dividually, but  the  Roman  empire  in  its  whole  appeared 
to  him  something  superior ;  and  all  the  great  men  of  the 
age  of  conquests,  the  Alarics,  tiie  Ataulplis,  the  Theodorics, 
and  many  others,  while  destroying  and  throwing  to  the 
ground  tlie  Roman  Empire,  exerted  all  their  power  to 
imitate  it. 

These  are  the  principal  facts  which  manifested  themselves 
in   the  epoch  which  we  iiave  just   reviewed,  and,  above  all, 


CIVIMZATION    JN    FJtANCE.  *i)ll 

in  the  compilation  and  successive  transformation  of  the  bar 
baric  laws.  We  shall  seek,  in  our  next  lecture,  what  re- 
mained of  the  Roman  laws  to  govern  the  Romans  themselves, 
while  the  Germans  were  applying  themselves  to  writing 
their  own. 


£18  HISTOET   OP 


ELEVENTH   LECTURE. 

Peif)e(uity  of  the  Roman  law  after  the  fall  of  the  Empire— Of  the  Hif- 
tory  of  the  Roman  Law  in  the  Middle  A^es,  by  M.  de  Savigny— 
Merita  and  deficiencies  of  this  work — 1.  Roman  law  among  tlie 
Visigoths — Breviarium  Aniani,  collected  by  command  of  Alaric — 
History  and  contents  of  this  collection — 2.  Roman  law  among  tho 
Burgundians — Papiani  Rtsponsorum — History  and  contents  of  this 
law — 3.  Roman  law  among  the  Franks — No  new  ,  ollection— Th« 
perpetuity  of  Roman  law  proved  by  various  facts — Recapitulation. 

You  are  now  acquainted  with  the  state  of  German  and  Roman 
society  before  the  invasion.  You  l<now  the  general  result  of 
their  first  approximation,  that  is  to  say,  the  state  of  Gaul 
immediately  after  the  invasion.  We  have  just  studied  the 
barbaric  hiws  j  that  is,  the  first  labor  of  the  German  nations 
to  adapt  their  ancient  customs  to  their  new  situation.  Let  us 
now  study  Roman  legislation  at  the  same  epoch,  that  is  to  say, 
that  portion  of  the  Roman  law  and  institutions  which  survived 
the  invasion  and  continued  to  rule  the  Gallic  Romans.  Thiii 
is  the  subject  of  a  German  work,  for  some  years  past  cele- 
brated  in  the  learned  world,  The  History  of  the  Roman  Law  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  by  M.  de  Savigny.  The  design  of  the 
author  is  more  extended  than  ours,  because  he  retraces  the 
history  of  the  Roman  law,  not  only  in  France,  but  throughout 
Europe.  He  has  also  treated  of  what  concerns  France  with 
more  detail  than  I  have  been  able  to  give  to  it  here  ;  and, 
before  beginning  the  subject,  I  must  request  your  attention  a 
moment  whiie  I  speak  of  his  work. 

The  perpetuity  of  the  Roman  law,  from  the  fall  of  the 
Empire  until  the  regeneration  of  sciences  and  letters,  is  its 
fundamental  idea.  The  contrary  opinion  was  long  and  gene- 
rally  spread  ;  it  was  believed  that  Roman  law  had  fallen  with 
che  Empire,  to  be  resuscitated  in  the  twelfth  century  by  the 
discovery  of  a  manuscript  of  the  Pandects,  found  at  Amalfi. 
This  is  the  error  tiiat  M.  de  Savigny  has  wished  to  dissipate. 
His  first  two  volumes  are  wholly  taken  up  by  researches  into 
the  .races  of  the  Roman  law  from  tlie  fifth  to  the  twelfth  cen. 
lury,  and  in  proviYig,  by  recovering  its  history,  that  it  ha<f 
never  ceased  to  exist. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  228 

The  dtinionstration  is  convincing,  and  the  end  full}  attained. 
Still,  the  work,  considered  as  a  whole,  and  as  an  historical 
production,  leaves  room  for  some  obst  rvations. 

Every  epoch,  every  historical  matter,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
may  be  considered  under  three  diflerent  points  of  view,  an«.f 
imposes  a  triple  task  upon  the  historian.  He  can,  nay,  he 
should  first  seek  the  facts  themselves  ;  collect  and  biing  to 
liglit,  without  any  aim  than  that  of  exactitude,  all  that  hag 
happened.  The  facts  once  recovered,  it  is  necessary  to  know 
the  laws  that  have  governed  them  ;  how  they  were  connected  ; 
what  causes  have  brought  about  those  incidents  which  are  the 
life  of  society,  and  propel  it,  by  certain  ways,  towards  certain 
ends. 

I  wish  to  mark  with  clearness  and  precision  the  difference 
of  the  two  studies.  Facts,  properly  so  called,  external  and 
visible  events,  are  the  body  of  history  ;  the  members,  bones, 
muscles,  organs,  and  material  elements  of  the  past;  their 
knowledge  and  description  form  what  may  be  called  historical 
anatomy.  But  for  society,  as  for  the  individual,  anatomy  is 
not  the  only  science.  Not  only  do  facts  subsist,  but  they  are 
connected  with  one  another  ;  they  succeed  each  other,  and  are 
engendered  by  the  action  of  certain  forces,  which  act  under 
the  empire  of  certain  laws.  There  is,  in  a  word,  an  organiza- 
tion  and  a  life  of  societies,  as  well  as  of  the  individual.  This 
organization  has  also  its  science,  the  science  of  the  secret  laws 
which  preside  over  the  course  of  events.  This  is  the  physi- 
ology  of  history. 

Neither  historical  physiology  nor  anatomy  are  complete 
and  veritable  history.  You  have  enumerated  the  facts,  you 
have  followed  the  internal  and  general  laws  which  produced 
them.  Do  you  also  know  their  external  and  living  physiog- 
nomy ?  Have  you  them  before  your  eyes  under  individual 
and  animate  features  ?  This  is  absolutely  necessary,  because 
these  facts,  now  dead,  have  lived — the  past  has  been  the 
present ;  and  unless  it  again  become  so  to  you,  if  the  dead 
are  not  resuscitated,  you  know  them  not ;  you  do  not  know 
nistory.  Could  the  anatomist  and  physiologist  surmise  man 
if  they  had  never  seen  him  living  ? 

The  research  into  facts,  the  study  of  their  organization, 
the  reproduction  of  their  form  and  motion,  these  are  history 
such  as  truth  would  have  it.  We  may  accept  but  one  oi 
other  of  these  tasks ;  we  may  consider  the  past  under  such 
or  such  a  point  of  view,  and  propose  such  or  such  a  design ; 


224  HISTORY    OF 

we  may  prefer  the  criticism  of  facts,  or  the  study  of  iJieii 
laws,  or  the  reproduction  of  the  spectacle.  These  labo;g 
may  be  excellent  and  honorable  ;  but  it  must  never  be  for 
gotten  that  they  are  partial  and  incomplete  ;  that  this  is  not 
history — that  history  has  a  triple  problem  to  resolve ;  tha* 
every  great  historical  work,  in  order  to  be  placed  in  its  true 
position,  should  be  considered  and  judged  of  under  a  triple 
relation. 

Under  the  first,  as  a  research  of,  and  criticism  upon,  histo- 
rical material  elements,  The  llinlury  uf  Ike  Roman  Law  in  the 
Middle  Ages  is  a  very  remarkable  book.  Not  only  has  M. 
de  Savigny  discovered  or  re-established  many  unknown  oi 
forgotten  facts,  but  (what  is  much  more  rare  and  dillicult)  he 
has  assigned  to  them  their  true  relation.  When  I  say  their 
relation,  I  do  not  yet  speak  of  the  links  which  unite  them  in 
their  development,  but  merely  of  their  disposition,  of  the  place 
which  they  occupy  in  regard  to  one  another,  and  of  their  rela- 
live  importance.  Nothing  is  so  common  in  history,  even  with 
the  most  exact  knowledge  of  facts,  as  to  assign  to  thum  a  place 
other  tiian  that  which  they  really  occupied,  of  attributing  to 
them  an  importance  which  they  did  not  possess.  M.  de  Sa- 
vigny has  not  struck  on  this  rock  ;  his  enumeration  of  facts  is 
learned  and  equal ;  and  he  distributes  and  compares  them 
with  like  knowledge  and  discernment ;  I  repeat,  that,  in  all 
that  belongs  to  the  anatomical  study  of  that  portion  of  the  past 
which  forms  the  subject  of  his  work,  he  has  left  scarcely  any- 
thing  to  be  desired. 

As  a  philosophical  history,  as  a  study  of  the  general  and 
progressive  organization  of  facts,  I  cannot  say  so  much  for  it. 
It  does  not  appear  to  me  that  M.  de  Savigny  has  proposed 
this  task  to  himself,  or  that  he  has  even  thought  of  it.  Not 
only  has  he  omitted  all  attempt  tn  place  the  particular  history 
upon  which  he  occupied  himself  in  relation  with  the  general 
history  of  civilization  and  of  human  nature,  but  even  within 
his  own  subject,  he  has  troubled  himself  but  little  with  any 
systematic  concatenation  of  facts  ;  he  has  not  in  the  least 
considered  them  as  causes  and  efiects,  in  their  relation  ot 
generation.  They  present  themselves  in  his  work,  totally 
isolated,  and  having  between  them  no  other  relation  than  thai 
nf  dates,  a  relation  which  is  no  true  link,  and  which  gives  to 
facta  neither  meaning  nor  value. 

Nor  do  we  meet,  in  any  greater  degree,  with  poetical  truth  ; 
faots  do  not  appear  to  M.  de  Savigny  under  their  living  f  i.y 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  225 

Biognomy.  It  is  true,  upon  such  a  subject,  he  had  ncitlier 
characters  nor  scenes  to  reproduce  ;  his  personages  are  tc.xLs^ 
and  his  events  publications  or  abrogations  of  laws.  Still  these 
texts  and  legislative  rcfornns  belonged  to  a  society  which  had 
Its  manners  and  its  life  ;  they  are  associated  with  events 
more  suited  to  strike  the  imagination — to  invasions,  founda- 
tion.3  of  states,  &c.  There  is  among  these  a  certain  dramatic 
aspect  to  seize;  in  this  M.  de  Savigny  has  failed  ;  his  disser 
tations  are  not  marked  with  the  hue  of  the  spectacle  will, 
which  they  arc  connected";  he  docs  not  reproduce  the  external 
and  individual  traits  of  history  any  more  than  its  internal  and 
general  laws. 

And  do  not  suppose  that  in  this  there  is  no  other  evil  than 
that  of  a  deficiency,   and  that  this  absence  of  philosophical 
and  poetical   truth  is  without   influence  upon  the  criticism  of 
the   material   elements  of  history.      More  than  once    M.  de 
Savigny,  from  not  properly  taking  hold  of  the  laws  and  phy- 
siognomy of  facts,  has  been  led  into  error  regarding  the  facts 
themselves;    he   has   not  deceived    himself  as   to    texts  and 
dates ;   he  has  not   omitted   or  incorrectly  reported   such   or 
such  an  event  ;   he  has  committed  a  species  of  error  for  which 
the   English  have   a  word  which  is  wanting  in  our  tongue, 
mhrepresentatinn,  that  is  to  say,  he  has  spread   a  false  hue 
over  facts,  arising,  not  from  any  inaccuracy  in  particular  de- 
tails,  but  froni  want  of  verity  in   the  aspect  of  the  whole,  in 
the   manner   in   which  the   mirror   reflects   the   picture.     In 
treating,  for  example,  of  the  social  state  of  the  Germans  be- 
fore  the  invasion,  M.  de  Savigny  speaks  in  detail  of  the  free 
nrien,  of  their  situation  and  their  share  in  the  national  institu- 
tions ;'    his  knowledge  of  historical  documents  is  extensive 
and  correct,  and  the  facts  alleged  by  him  are  true  ;   but  he 
has  not  rightly  considered  the   mobility  of  situations  among 
the  barbarians,  nor  the  secret  contest  between  those  two  socie- 
ties, the  tribe  and  the  warlike  band,  which  co-existed  among 
the  Germans,  nor  the  influence  of  the  latter   in  altering  the 
individual  equality  and   independence  which   served   as  the 
Ibundation  of  the  former,  nor  the  vicissitudes  and  successive 
•ransformations  to  whicn  the  condition  of  the  free  men  wag 
subjecteii  by  this  influence.     Hence  arises,  in  my  opinion,   a 
ge'iera!   mistake  in  the  painting  of  this  condition  ;    he   has 


T.  i.,  pp.  160—195. 


220  HISTORY   OF 

made  it  too  fine,  too  fixed,  and  too  powerful ;  he  has  not,  in 
the  least,  represented  its  weakness  and  approaching  fall. 

The  same  fauk  is  seen,  although  in  a  less  degree,  in  his 
history  of  the  Roman  law  itself,  from  the  fifth  to  tiie  twelfth 
century  ;  it  is  complete  and  correct,  as  far  as  the  collection 
of  facts  goes  j  hut  the  facts  are  all  placed  there,  so  to  speak, 
uj)on  the  same  level  j  one  is  not  present  at  their  successive 
modifications,  one  does  not  perceive  the  Roman  law  transform 
Itself  in  proportion  as  the  new  society  is  developed.  No  moral 
concatenation  connects  these  so  learnedly  and  ingeniously  re- 
established facts.  Anatomical  dissection,  in  a  word,  is  the 
dominant  character  of  the  work ;  internal  organization  and 
external  life  are  alike  wanting  to  it. 

Reduced  to. its  true  nature,  as  a  criticism  of  material  facts, 
M.  de  Savigny's  book  is  original  and  excellent ;  it  ought  to 
Berve  as  the  basis  of  all  studies  whose  subject  is  this  epocli, 
because  it  places  beyond  all  doubt  the  perpetuity  of  Roman 
law  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  and  thus  fully  re- 
solves the  problem  which  the  author  projiosed  to  himself. 

Now  that  it  is  resolved,  one  is  surprised  that  this  problem 
should  ever  have  been  raised,  and  that  the  permanence  of 
the  Roman  law,  after  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  should  ever  have 
been  doubted.  Not  only  do  the  barbaric  laws  everywhere 
make  mention  of  the  Roman  laws,  but  there  is  scarcely  a 
single  document  or  act  of  this  epoch  which  does  not,  directly 
or  indirectly,  attest  their  daily  application.  Perhaps  the  error 
which  M.  de  Savigny  has  contested,  has  not  been  so  general 
nor  so  absolute  as  he  appears  to  suppose,  and  as  it  is  commonly 
said  to  be.  It  was  the  Pandects  which  reappeared  in  the 
twelfth  century ;  and  when  people  have  celebrated  the  resur- 
rection of  the  Roman  law  at  this  period,  it  is  above  all  of  the 
legislation  of  Justinian  that  they  have  spoken.  On  regarding 
more  closely,  one  will  perceive,  I  think,  that  the  perpetuity  of 
other  portions  of  the  Roman  law  in  the  west,  the  Theodosian 
code,  for  example,  and  of  all  the  collections  of  which  it  served 
for  the  basis,  has  not  been  so  entirely  departed  from,  as  the 
work  of  M.  de  Savigny  would  give  us  to  believe.  But  it 
matters  little  j  more  or  less  extended,  the  error  upon  this  sub- 
joct  was  real,  and  M.  de  Savigny,  in  dissipating  it,  has  given 
91  prodigious  progress  to  knowledge. 

I  sliall  now  place  before  you  the  principal  results  of  hia 
work,  but  I  shall  do  so  in  an  order  contrary  to  that  which  we 
have  followed  in  studying  the  German  laws.     We  commenced 


CISTILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  827 

with  the  most  barbarous,  in  order  to  finish  with  luoso  in  u liicli 
iho  Roman  spirit  liacJ  penetrated  the  deepest.  We  shall  now, 
on  the  contrary,  first  study  the  countries  where  the  Roman 
.aw  preserved  the  greatest  empire,  in  order  to  follow  it  in  'Aw. 
various  degrees  of  its  diminution  of  strength. 

It  follows  that  the  kingdom  of  tiie  Visigoths  is  the  first 
upon  which  we  have  to  occupy  ourselves.  It  was,  you  will 
recall  to  mind,  from  the  year  66  to  484  that  king  Euric, 
wlio  resided  at  Toulouse,  for  the  first  time  caused  the  cus- 
toms of  the  Goths  to  be  written.  In  .506,  his  successor, 
Alaric  II.,  caused  the  laws  of  his  Roman  subjects  to  be  col- 
lected and  published  under  a  new  form.  We  read,  at  the 
beginning  of  some  of  the  manuscripts  of  this  collection,  the 
following  preface  : —  v 

"  In  this  volume  are  contained  the  laws  or  decisions  of 
equity,  selected  from  the  Theodosian  code  and  other  books, 
and  explained  as  has  been  ordered,  the  lord  king  Alaric  being 
in  the  twenty-second  year  of  his  reign,  the  illustrious  count 
Goiaric  presiding  at  this  work.  Copy  of  the  decree  : — Letter 
of  advice  to  Timothy,  Viscount.  With  the  aid  of  God,  occu- 
pied  with  the  interests  of  our  people,  we  have  corrected,  after 
mature  deliberation,  all  that  seemed  iniquitous  in  the  laws,  in 
such  manner  that,  by  the  labor  of  the  priests  and  other  noble- 
men, all  obscurity  in  the  Roman  and  in  our  own  ancient  laws 
is  dissipated,  and  a  greater  clearness  is  spread  over  it,  to  the 
end  that  nothing  may  remain  ambiguous,  and  offer  a  subject 
for  lengthened  controversies  for  pleaders.  All  these  laws, 
then,  being  explained  and  re-united  in  a  single  book  by  the 
choice  of  wise  men,  the  assent  of  venerable  bishops,  and  of 
our  provincial  subjects,  elected  with  this  view,  has  confirmed 
the  said  collection,  to  which  is  appended  a  clear  interpreta- 
tion. Our  Clemency,  then,  has  ordered  the  subscribed  book 
to  be  entrusted  to  count  Goiaric,  for  the  decision  of  aflairs,  to 
the  end  that  hereafter  all  processes  may  be  terminated  accord- 
ing to  its  dispositions,  and  that  it  be  not  allowed  to  any  person 
to  put  forward  any  law  or  rule  of  equity,  unless  contained  in 
the  present  book,  subscribed,  as  we  have  ordered,  by  the  hand 
of  the  honorable  man  Anianus.  It  is,  therefore,  expedient 
that  thou  take  heed  that,  in  thy  jurisdiction  no  other  law  or 
form  be  alleged  or  admitted  ;  if,  perchance,  such  a  thing 
should  happen,  it  shall  be  at  the  peril  of  thy  head,  or  at  the 
expense  of  thy  fortune.  We  order  that  this  prescript  Ix 
joined  to  the  book  that  we  send  thee,  to  the  end  that  the  nilf 
35 


228  HISTORY    OF 

of  our  will  and  the  fear  of  tiie  penalty  may  restrain  all  oui 
subjects. 

" '  I,  Anianus,  honorable  man,  according  to  the  order  of 
the  very  glorious  king  Alaric,  have  subscribed  and  published 
this  volume  of  Theodosian  laws,  decisions  of  equity,  and  other 
books,  collected  at  Aire,  tlie  twenty-  econd  year  of  his  reign. 
We  have  collated  them. 

"  *  Given  the  fourth  day  of  the  nones  of  February,  ihi^ 
twenty-second  year  of  the  reign  of  king  Alaric,  at  Tou. 
louse.'  " 

This  preface  contains  all  we  know  concerr  fig  tlie  history 
of  the  digestion  of  this  code.  I  have  a  few  explanations  to 
add  to  it.  Goiaric  was  the  count  of  the  palace,  charged  with 
the  superintendence  of  its  execution  throughout  the  kingdom  ; 
Anianus,  in  quality  of  referendary,  was  to  subscribe  the  va- 
rious copies  of  it,  and  send  them  *o  the  provincial  counts  ; 
Timothy  is  one  of  these  counts.  The  greater  part  of  the 
manuscripts  being  but  copies  made  for  private  purposes,  give 
neither  the  preface  nor  any  letter.  The  collection  of  Alaric 
contains:  1st,  the  Theodosian  code  (sixteen  books);  2d,  tiie 
books  of  civil  law  of  the  emperor  Theodosius,  Valentiniaii, 
Marcian,  Majorian,  and  Severus ;  3d,  tiie  Institutes  of  Gaius, 
the  jurisconsult  ;  4th,  five  books  of  Paul,  the  jurisconsult, 
entitled  ReceptcB  Sententice  ;  5th,  the  Gregorian  code  (thirteen 
titles) ;  6th,  tiie  Hermoginian  code  (2  titles) ;  7th,  and  lastly, 
a  passage  from  the  work  of  Papinian,  entitled  Liber  Respon- 
sorum. 

The  Constitutions  and  Novels  of  the  emperors  are  called 
Leges  ;  the  works  of  the  jurisconsults,  including  the  Gregorian 
and  Hermoginian  codes,  which  did  not  emanate  from  any  ofii- 
cial  or  public  power,  bear  simply  the  name  of  Jus.  Tliis  is 
the  distinction  between  law  and  jurisprudence. 

Tlie  whole  collection  was  called  Lex  Romana,  and  not 
Brevianum ;  the  latter  name  was  unluiown  before  tlie  six- 
teenth century.'  Of  the  Breviarium  Alaricianum,  there  is  but 
one  separate  edition,  published  in  1528,  at  Basle,  by  Sichard. 
It  has  besides  this  been  inserted,  sometimes  partially  and 
sometimes  entire,  in  the  various  editions  of  the  Theodosian 
code. 


*  In  the  preceding  lecture  it  ia  said  that  Alaric  caused  the  laws  of 
lie  Roman  subjects  to  be  cullected  and  published  under  the  name  ul 
Brtviathtm.     'I'll is  is  an  overbi;;ht. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCr*  229 

It  is  divided  into  two  essential  parts  :  1st,  a  text  or  abstrucl 
^f  ilie  sources  of  tlie  law  which  1  have  just  enuinerated  ;  2d, 
un  interpretation.  The  Institutes  of  Gains  is  the  only  wort 
in  Which  the  interprctaiion  and  the  text  are  fused  in  one. 

The  text  is  merely  the  reproduction  of  the  original  text,  il 
is  noi  always  complete  ;  all  the  imperial  constitutions,  for  ex- 
ample,  are  not  inserted  in  the  Breviarium  ;  but  those  which  il 
did  produce  are  not  nuitilated.  There  the  ancient  law  appears 
m  all  Its  purity,  independent  of  the  changes  which  the  fall  ot 
tiie  Empire  must  have  introduced  into  it.  The  Interpretation, 
on  the  contrary,  digested  in  the  time  of  Alaric  by  civil  or 
ecclesiastical  jurisconsults,  whom  he  had  charged  with  this 
work,  takes  cognizance  of  all  these  changes  ;  it  explains,  mo- 
difies, and  sometimes  positively  alters  the  text,  in  order  to 
adapt  it  to  the  new  state  of  the  government  and  of  society ;  it 
is,  therefore,  for  the  study  of  the  institutions  and  Roman  laws 
of  this  epoch,  more  important  and  curious  than  the  text  itself. 
The  mere  existence  of  such  a  work  is  the  most  clear  and  con- 
clusive proof  of  the  perpetuity  of  Roman  law.  One  need, 
?ndeed,  scarcely  open  it.  Should  we  open  it,  however,  we 
shall  everywhere  find  the  trace  of  the  Roman  society,  of  its 
institutions  and  magistrates,  as  well  as  of  its  civil  legislation. 
The  municipal  system  occupies  an  important  place  in  the  In^ 
terpretati^n  of  the  Breviarium ;  the  curia  and  its  magistrates, 
the  duumvirs,  the  defensores,  &c.,  recur  at  every  step,  and 
attest  that  the  Roman  municipality  still  subsisted  and  acted. 
And  not  only  did  it  subsist,  but  it  acquired  more  importance 
and  independence.  At  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  the  governors 
of  the  Rom?n  provinces,  the  prcesides,  the  consulares,  the  cor- 
rectores,  disappeared  ;  in  their  place  we  find  the  barbarian 
counts.  But  all  the  attributes  of  the  Roman  governors  did 
not  pass  to  the  counts  ;  they  made  a  kind  of  partition  of 
them  ;  some  belonged  to  the  counts  ;  and  these,  in  general, 
were  those  in  which  the  central  power  was  interested,  such 
as  the  levying  of  taxes,  men,  &c.  ;  the  others,  those  which 
only  concerned  the  private  life  of  the  citizens,  passed  to  the 
curiae  and  the  municipal  magistrates.  I  have  not  cared  to 
enumerate  all  these  changes  ;  but  here  are  some  examples 
drawn  from  the  Interpretation. 

1st.  That  which  was  formerly  done  by  the  praetor  [alibi  th»! 

riresiaent)  shall  now  be  executed  by  the  judges  of  the  city.— 
nterp.  Paul,  1,  7,  §  2;  Int.  C.  Th.,  xi.,  4,  2. 


230  HISTOllY   OF 

2d.  EiTiancipation,  which  has  usually  been  done  before  the 
president,  must  now  be  done  before  the  curia. — Ga'ius  1,  6. 

3d.  Guardians  were  nominated  at  Constantinople  by  the 
prefect  of  the  town,  ten  senators,  and  the  prsetor.  The  Inter, 
vretation  puts  in  .heir  place  "  the  first  of  the  city  with  the 
judge"  (probably  the  duumvir). — Int.  C.  Th.,  iii.,  17,  3. 

5th.  Wills  must  be  opened  in  the  curia. — Interp.  C.  Th., 
iv.,  4,  4. 

Cases  of  this  kind  are  numerous,  and  do  not  allow  of  a 
doubt,  but  that,  so  fur  from  perishing  vith  the  En)pire,  the 
municipal  system  acquired  long  after  the  invasion,  at  least  in 
Southern  Gaul,  more  extension  and  liberty. 

A  second  considerable  change  is  also  visible.  In  the  an- 
cient  Roman  municipality,  the  superior  magistrates,  the  du- 
umvir, the  quinquennalis,  &c.,  exercised  their  jurisdiction  as 
a  personal  right,  not  by  any  means  by  way  of  delegation,  or 
in  quality  of  representatives  of  vihe  curia;  it  was  to  them- 
selves,  not  to  tiio  municipal  body,  that  tho  power  appor- 
tuincd.  The  princijjul  of  tho  munlci[)al  system  was  moro 
aristocratical  than  democratical.  Such  was  the  result  of  the 
ancient  Roman  manners,  and  especially  of  the  primitive 
amalgamation  of  the  religious  and  political  powers  in  the  su- 
perior  magistrates. 

In  the  Breviarium  the  aspect  of  the  municipal  system 
changes ;  it  was  no  longer  in  its  own  name,  it  was  in  the 
name  and  as  the  delegate  of  the  curiae  that  the  defensor  ex- 
ercised his  power.  The  jurisdiction  belonged  to  the  curia  in 
a  body.  The  principle  of  its  organization  became  democrati- 
cal ;  and  already  tho  transformation  was  in  preparation,  which 
was  to  make  of  the  Roman  municipality  the  corporation  of 
the  middle  ages. 

These  are  the  principal  results  of  M.  de  Savigny's  worK, 
with  regard  to  the  permanence  of  Roman  law  under  the  Visi. 
goths.  I  hardly  know  whether  he  has  measured  its  whole 
extent  and  all  its  consequences  in  the  history  of  modern 
society,  but  he  has  certainly  caught  glimpses  of  it ;  and  in 
general  his  ideas  are  as  precise  as  his  learning  is  correct 
and  extensive.  Of  all  German  savans  who  have  occupied 
themselves  on  this  subject,  he  is  certainly  the  most  exemj)t 
from  al  German  prejudices,  who  least  allows  nimself  to  bo 
oaiTiei  away  by  the  desire  to  enlarge  upon  the  power  of  the 
ancient  German  institutions  and  manners  in  modern  civi. 
•ization,  and  who  makes  the  Roman  element  constitute  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  231 

oetter  part.  Sometimes,  however,  the  prepossession  of  tha 
national  spirit,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  has  still  deceived 
liitii,  and  of  this  I  will  cite  a  single  cxatnple.  He  says  at 
the  end  of  tlic  chapter  upon  the  municipal  system  under  tlu 
Visigoths : — 

"The  text  of  the  Code  orders  that  at' Rome,  in  order  to 
pionounce  upon  a  criminal  accusation  against  a  senator,  five 
senators  be  appointed  by  lot :  the  Interpretation  renders  this 
rule  general,  and  requires  five  of  the  principal  citizens  of  the 
same  rank  as  the  accused,  that  is  to  say,  decurions  or  plebdan, 
according  to  the  condition  of  the  accused  hi?nself.  .  .  .  May  we 
not  here  conjecture  tl)e  influence  of  the  German  Scabini .?'" 

Thus  M.  de  Savigny  supposes  that,  according  to  the  Inter- 
pretation of  the  Breviarium,  the  judges  drawn  by  lot,  in 
criminal  matters,  were,  under  the  Visigoths  in  the  sixth  cen- 
tury, to  be  of  the  same  condition  as  the  accused,  that  every 
man  was  to  be  judged -by  his  peers  ',  for  it  is  thus  that  they 
commonly  digest  the  principle  of  the  institution  of  the  jury, 
according  to  German  manners.  Here  is  the  Latin  sentence 
upon  which  this  induction  is  founded. 

"  Cum  pro  ohjecto  crimine,  aliquis  audiendus  est,  quinque 
nohilissimi  viri  judices,  de  reliquis  sibi  similibus,  missis  sortibus 
eliganlur." 

That  is  to  say  : 

"  If  any  one  be  cited  to  appear  on  accusation  of  crime,  let 
five  noblf.s  be  appointed  by  lot,  from  among  co-equals,  to  be 
judges   ' 

These  words,  de  reliquis  sibi  similibus,  evidently  signify 
that  the  five  judges  shall  be  drawn  by  lot  from  the  same  class, 
and  not  from  the  class  of  the  accused.  There  is,  therefore, 
no  trace  in  it  of  the  idea  that  the  judges  must  be  of  the  same 
rank  and  condition  of  the  accused.  The  words  nobilissimi 
viri  might  have  convinced  M.  de  Savigny,  and  prevented  his 
error  :  how,  indeed,  can  they  apply  to  plebeian  judges  ? 

Let  us  pass  from  the  Visigoths  to  the  Burgundians,  and  see 
what  was  the  state  of  the  Roman  legislation  at  the  same  epoch, 
among  the  latter. 

The  preface  to  their  law  contains,  as  you  will  recollect, 
"his  sentence  : 

•'  We  order  that   Romans  be  judged   according  to  Roman 


'  Vol.  i.,  p.  265.  s  Intern   Cod.  Th.,  xi  ,  1,  13 


'482  HISTORV    OF 

laws,  as  was  done  by  our  ancestors,  and  that  ihey  receive  ir 
writing  the  form  and  tenor  of  the  laws  according  to  which 
ihey  shall  be  judged^  to  the  end  that  no  person  can  excuse 
himself  upon  the  score  of  ignorance." 

The  Burgundian  Sigismond,  therefore,  intended  to  do  ui 
517,  what  Alaric,  the  Visigoth,  iiad  done  eleven  years  before, 
to  collect  the  Roman  laws  for  his  Roman  subjects. 

In  1506,  Cujas  found  in  a  manuscript  a  law  work  which  he 
publisiied  under  the  title  of  Fapuini  Reaponsum,  or  JAber 
Besponsorum,  and  which  has  always  since  borne  that  name. 
It  is  divided  into  47  or  48  titles,  and  offers  the  following 
characteristics  : 

1st.  The  order  and  heading  of  the  titles  corresponds  almost 
exactly  with  those  of  the  barbaric  law  of  the  Burgundians  ; 
title  II.  de  homicidiis,  to  title  11.  de  homicidiis ;  title  III.  di 
hbertatibus,  to  title  III.  de  UberUitibus  servorum  nostrorum, 
and  so  on.  M.  de  Savigny  has  drawn  up  a  comparative  view 
of  the  two  laws,^  and  the  correlativeness  is  evident. 

2d.  We  read  in  title  II.  of  tiiis  work,  dc  hoinicidlis  : 

"And  as  it  is  very  clear  that  the  Roman  law  has  regulated 
nothing  concerning  the  value  of  men  killed,  our  lord  haa 
ordered  that  according  to  tlie  quality  of  the  slave,  the  mur 
derer  shall  pay  to  his  master  tlie  following  sums,  namely  : 

For  an  intendant, 100  solidi 

For  a  personal  servant, 60 

For  a  laborer  or  swineherd, 30 

For  a  good  gold-worker, 100 

For  a  smith, 50 

For  a  carpenter, 40 

"  This  must  be  observed  according  to  the  order  of  the  king." 

The  enumeration  and  the  composition,  under  the  corre- 
sponding title,  are  the  same  in  the  law  of  the  Burgundians. 

3d.  Lastly,  two  titles  of  the  first  supplement  of  this  law 
(tit.  I.  and  XIX.)  are  textually  borrowed  from  the  Papiam 
Responsum,  published  by  Cujas. 

It  is  evident  that  this  work  is  no  other  than  the  law  pro. 
claimed  by  Sigismond  to  his  Roman  subjects,  at  the  time  that 
le  published  the  law  of  his  barbaric  subjects. 

Whence   comes   the   title  of  this  law  ?      Why  is  it  called 

'  Vol.  ii.,  pp.  13—16. 


CIVIMZATION    IN    FRANCE.  233 

Pairiani  Rcsponsum  ?  Is  it,  in  fact,  a  rrpotilioii  of  a  work 
of  rnpinianus,  often  called  Papian  by  tlic  inaiuiscripts  ? 
Nothing  is  less  probable.  I\I.  de  Savigny  has  very  inge- 
nioiisly  resolved  this  question.  He  conjectures  that  Cujaa 
found  the  manuscript  of  the  Roman  law  of  the  Burgundians 
at  the  end  of  a  manuscript  of  the  Breviarium  of  Alaric,  witii- 
out  marking  the  separation  of  the  two  works;  and  that  the 
Breviarium  fuiishing  by  a  passage  of  the  Liher  Responsorum 
of  Papinianus,  Cujas  has  inadvertently  ascribed  this  passage 
and  given  this  title  to  the  work  following.  The  examination 
of  many  manuscripts  confirms  this  conjecture,  and  Cujas 
himself  was  doubtful  of  error. 

As  the  Breviarium  of  Alaric  preceded  the  law  of  the  Roman 
Burgundians  by  only  a  few  years,  some  people  have  supposed 
the  latter  to  be  merely  an  abstract  of  it.  This  is  an  error. 
Much  more  brief  and  incomplete  than  the  Breviarium,  the 
Papiani  Responsum,  since  it  keeps  that  name,  has  still,  more 
than  once,  drawn  from  the  sources  of  the  Roman  law,  and 
furnishes  upon  this  point  many  important  indications. 

It  probably  fell  into  disuse  when  the  kingdom  of  the  Bur- 
gundians fell  under  the  yoke  of  the  Franks.  Everything 
indicates  that  the  Breviarium  of  Alaric,  more  extensive  and 
oetter  satisfying  to  the  various  wants  of  civil  life,  progres- 
sively replaced  it,  and  became  the  law  of  the  Romans  in  all 
'he  countries  of  Gaul  that  the  Burgundians,  as  well  as  the 
Visigoths,  had  possessed. 

The  Franks  remain  to  be  considered.  When  they  had  con- 
quered, or  almost  conquered  the  whole  of  Gaul,  the  Brevia- 
t'ium,  and,  for  some  time  also,  the  Papian,  continued  i)i  vigor 
in  the  countries  where  they  had  formerly  prevailed.  But  in 
the  north  and  north-east  of  Gaul,  in  the  first  settlements  of  the 
Franks,  the  situation  was  different.  We  there  find  nothing 
of  a  new  Roman  code,  no  attempt  to  collect  and  digest  the 
Roman  law  for  the  ancient  inhabitants.  It  is  certain,  how- 
ever, that  it  continued  to  rule  them  ;  here  are  the  principal 
liicta  which  do  not  admit  of  a  dotiht  of  this. 

1st.  The  Salic  and  Ripuarian  laws  continually  repeat  thai 
the  Romans  shall  be  judged  according  to  the  Roman  law. 
Many  decrees  of  the  Frank  kings — an)ong  others,  a  decree  o' 
Clotaire  I.,  in  560,  and  one  of  Childebeit  II.,  in  59.5,  rene^^ 
this  injunction,  and  borrow  from  the  Roman  law  some  of  it£ 
nrovisions.  The  legislative  monuments  of  the  Franks,  there 
fore,  attest  its  perpetuity. 


284  HISTORY    OF 

2d.  A  uifTerent  kind  of  monuments,  no  less  authentic,  lilco 
wise  prove  it.  Many  of  you  know  the  fornnilije,  or  models  of 
forms,  according  to  which,  from  the  sixth  to  the  tenth  cen- 
tury, the  principal  acts  of  civil  life,  wills,  bequests,  enfran- 
chisements, sales,  &CC.,  were  orawn  up.  Tiie  principal 
collection  of  formulce  is  that  published  by  Marculf  tiie  monk, 
lowarda  the  end,  as  it  seems,  of  tlie  eighth  century.  Many 
men  of  learning — Mabillon,  Bignon,  Sirmond,  and  Linden- 
brog — have  recovered  others  of  liiem  from  old  manuscripts. 
A  large  number  of  tliese  formula)  reproduced,  in  the  same 
terms,  the  ancient  forms  of  Roman  law  concerning  the  en- 
franchisement  of  slaves,  bequests,  testaments,  prescriptions. 
&c.,  and  thus  prove  that  it  was  still  of  habitual  application. 

3d.  All  the  monuments  of  this  epoch,  in  the  countries 
occupied  by  the  Franks,  are  full  of  the  names  of  the  Roman 
municipal  system — duumvirs,  advocates,  curia,  and  curial, 
and  present  these  institutions  as  always  in  vigor. 

4th.  Many  civil  acts,  in  fact,  exist,  testaments,  bequests, 
sales,  &i,c.,  which  passed  according  to  the  Roman  law  in  the 
curia,  and  were  so  inscribed  upon  tiie  registers. 

5th.  Lastly,  the  chroniclers  of  the  time  often  speak  of  men 
versed  in  the  knowledge  of  the  Roman  law,  and  who  make 
an  attentive  study  of  it.  In  the  sixth  century,  the  Auvergnat 
Andarchius  "  was  very  learned  in  the  works  of  Virgil,  the 
books  of  the  Theodosian  law,  and  in  the  art  of  calculation.'" 
At  the  end  of  the  seventh  century,  Saint  Bonct,  bishop  ol 
Clermont,  "  was  imbued  with  the  principles  of  tiie  grammari- 
ans, and  learned  in  the  decrees  of  Theodosius."'  Saint 
Didier,  bishop  of  Cahors,  from  629  to  G54,  "  ap|)lied  himself," 
ways  his  life  in  manuscript,  "  to  the  study  of  the  Roman 
'aws." 

Of  a  surety  there  were  then  no  erudils  ;  there  was  then  nc 
A-cademie  des  inscriptions,  and  people  did  not  study  the 
Roman  law  for  mere  curiosity.  There  can,  then,  be  no 
reason  for  doubting  that  among  the  Franks,  as  well  as  among 
the  Burgundians  and  Visigoths,  it  continued  in  vigor,  particu- 
larly in  the  civil  legislation  and  in  the  municipal  system. 
Those  among  you  who  would  seek  tiie  proofs  in  detail,  ibc. 
original  texts  upon  which  the  results  which  I  have  just  stated 
are  founded,  will  find  a  large  number  of  them  in  the  work  of 


'  Greg   of  Tojrs,  1.  1,  c   47  *  Ada  sane  Juana.  c.  1,  No   3 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  290 

W.  de  Savigny  (vol.  i.,  p.  267—273;  vol.  ii.,  p.  100—118), 
and  still  more  in  the  Histoire  du  Regime  Municipal  de  France, 
published  by  M.  Raynouard — a  work  replete  with  curious 
res-^arches,  researches  so  complete  upon  certain  questions 
that,  in  truth,  one  might  almost  tax  them  with  supertluity. 

You  see  the  fact  which  I  proposed  to  bring  forward  is  indu. 
bitable.  Monuments  of  all  kinds  show  it,  doubtless  in  unequal 
degrees  among  different  nations,  but  everywhere  real  and 
permanent.  Its  importance  is  great,  because  it  proclaimed  to 
Gaul  a  social  state  entirely  different  from  that  in  which  it  had 
iiitherto  lived.  It  was  hardly  more  than  five  centuries  since 
it  had  fallen  beneath  the  power  of  the  Romans,  and  already 
scarcely  a  trace  of  the  ancient  Gaulish  society  remained. 
Roman  civilization  had  the  terrible  power  of  extirpating  the 
national  laws,  manners,  language,  and  religion — of  fully  assi- 
milating its  conquests  to  itself.  All  absolute  expressions  are 
exaggerated ;  still,  in  considering  things  in  general  at  the 
sixth  century,  we  may  say,  everything  in  Gaul  was  Roman. 
The  contrary  fact  accompanies  barbaric  conquest :  the  Ger- 
mans leave  to  the  conquered  population  their  lajvs,  local  insti- 
tutions, language,  and  religion.  An  invincible  unity  followed 
in  the  steps  of  the  Romans :  here,  on  the  contrary,  diversity 
was  established  by  the  consent  and  aid  of  the  conquerors. 
We  have  seen  that  the  empire  of  personality  and  individual 
independence,  the  characteristic  of  modern  civilization,  was  of 
German  origin  ;  wc  here  find  its  influence  ;  the  idea  of  per. 
sonality  presided  in  laws  as  inactions;  the  individuality  of 
peoples,  while  subject  to  the  same  political  domination,  was 
proclaimed  like  that  of  man.  Centuries  must  pass  before  the 
notion  of  territory  can  overcome  that  of  race,  before  personal 
legislation  can  become  real,  and  before  a  new  national  unity 
can  result  from  the  slow  and  laborious  fusion  of  the  various 
elements. 

This  granted,  and  the  perpetuity  of  Roman  legislation 
being  established,  still  do  not  let  this  word  deceive  you  :  there 
is  in  it  a  great  deal  that  is  illusory;  because  it  has  been  seen 
'.hat  the  Roman  law  continued,  because  the  same  names  and 
forms  have  been  met  with,  it  has  been  concluded  that  the 
principles,  that  the  spirit  of  the  laws  had  also  remained  the 
same :  the  Roman  law  of  the  tenth  century  has  been  spoken 
Df  as  that  of  the  Empire.  This  is  erroneous  language ; 
«hen  Alaric  and  Sigismond  ordered  a  new  collection  of  the 
Roman  laws   for  the   use  of  their  Roman  subjects,   they  did 


236  HISTORY    OF 

exactly  what  had  elsewhere  been  done  by  Theodijiic  and 
Dagobert,  in  causing  the  barbaric  laws  to  be  digested  for  theii 
Frank  subjects.  As  the  Salic  and  Ripuarian  laws  e  ;t  forth 
ancient  customs,  already  ill  suited  to  the  new  statt  of  the 
German  people,  so  the  Breviarium  of  Alaric  and  the  Fapia/u 
Responsum  collected  laws  already  old,  and  partly  inapplica- 
hie.  By  the  fall  of  the  Empire  and  by  the  invasion,  the 
whole  social  order  was  entirely  changed  ;  the  relations  be- 
tween men  were  diilerent,  and  another  system  of  prope:ty 
commenced  ;  the  Roman  political  institutions  could  not  sub- 
Bist  J  facts  of  all  sorts  were  renewed  over  the  whole  face  of 
Ihe  land.  And  what  laws  were  given  to  this  rising  society,  so 
disordered  and  yet  so  fertile  1  Two  ancient  laws :  the  ancient 
barbarous  customs  and  the  ancient  Roman  legislation.  It  is 
evident  that  neither  could  be  suitable  ;  both  must  be  modified, 
must  be  profoundly  metamorphosed,  in  order  to  be  adapted  to 
the  new  facts. 

When,  therefore,  we  say  that  at  the  sixth  century  the 
Roman  law  still  lasted,  and  that  the  barbarous  laws  were 
written  ;  wliet^  we  find  in  posterior  centuries  always  the  same 
v/ords,  Roman  law,  and  barbaric  laws,  it  must  not  be  supposed 
that  the  same  laws  are  spoken  of.  [n  perpetuating  itself,  tlie 
Roman  law  altered  ;  after  having  been  written,  the  barbaric 
laws  were  perverted.  Both  are  among  the  number  of  the 
essential  elements  of  modern  society  ;  but  as  elements  enter- 
ing into  a  new  combination,  which  will  arise  after  a  long  fer- 
mentation, and  in  the  breast  of  which  they  will  only  appear 
transformed. 

It  is  this  successive  transformation  that  I  shall  attempt  to 
present  to  you  ;  historians  do  not  speak  of  it ;  unvarying 
phrases  hide  it ;  it  is  an  internal  work,  a  profoundly  secret 
epectacle  ;  and  at  which  one  can  oidy  arrive  by  piercing 
many  inclosures,  and  guarding  against  the  illusion  caused  by 
the  similitude  of  forms  and  names. 

We  now  find  ourselves  at  the  end  of  our  researches  con- 
cerning the  state  of  civil  society  in  Gaul,  from  the  sixth  to 
the  middle  of  the  eighth  century.  In  our  next  lecture,  we 
sliall  study  the  changes  which  happened  in  the  religious 
society  at  the  same  epoch,  that  is  to  say,  the  state  and  consti 
ution  of  the  church. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  287 


TWELFTH   LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — State  of  the  church  in  Gaul,  from  the  sixth  (u 
the  middle  of  the  eighth  century — Analogy  between  the  primitiye 
state  of  the  religious  society  and  the  civil  society — The  unity  of  '.he 
church  or  the  spiritual  aociety — Two  elements  or  conditions  of 
spiritual  society  ;  1st.  Unity  of  truth,  that  is  to  say,  of  absolute  iea- 
son  ;  2d.  Liberty  of  minds,  or  individual  reason — State  of  these  two 
ideas  in  the  Christian  church,  from  the  sixth  to  the  eiglith  century 
— She  adopts  one  and  rejects  the  other — Unity  of  the  church  in 
legislation — General  councils — Diflcrence  between  the  eastern  and 
the  western  church  as  regards  the  persecution  of  heretics — Relations 
of  the  church  with  the  state,  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century: 
1st,  in  the  eastern  empire;  2d,  in  the  west,  especially  in  Frankish 
Gaul — Interference  of  the  temporal  power  in  the  aflairs  of  the 
church — Of  the  spiritual  power  in  the  affairs  of  the  state — Recapitu- 
lation. 

We  re-enter  a  route  over  which  we  have  already  gone;  wo 
again  take  up  a  thread  which  we  have  once  held  :  we  have 
to  occupy  ourselves  with  tlie  history  of  the  Christian  church 
in  Gaul,  from  the  completion  of  the  invasion  to  the  fall  of  the 
Merovingian  kings,  that  is  to  say,  from  the  sixth  to  the  middle 
of  the  eighth  century. 

The  determination  of  this  epoch  is  not  arbitrary  ;  the  acccs. 
sion  of  the  Carlovingian  kings  marked  a  crisis  in  religious 
society  as  well  as  in  civil  .society.  It  is  a  date  which  consti- 
tutes an  era,  and  at  which  it  is  advisable  to  pause. 

Recall  the  picture  which  I  have  traced  of  the  state  of  the 
religious  society  in  Gaul,  before  the  decisive  full  of  the  Roman 
empire,  that  is  to  say,  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  and  the  begin- 
ning of  the  fifth  century.  We  have  considered  the  church 
under  two  points  of  view  :  1st,  in  her  external  situation,  in 
her  relations  with  the  state ;  2d,  in  her  internal  constitution, 
in  her  social  and  political  organization.  Around  these  two 
fundamental  problems  we  have  seen  that  all  the  particular 
questions,  all  the  facts  collect. 

This  two- fold  examination  has  enabled  us  to  see,  in  the 
fii-st  five  ceoturies  of  the  church,  the  germ  of  all  the  solutions 
of  the  two  problems,  some  example  of  all  the  forms,  and  trials 
of  all  the  combinations.     There  is  no  system,  whether  in  re- 


238  HISTORY    OF 

gard  to  the  external  relations  of  the  church,  or  her  intisnia. 
organization,  which  may  not  be  traced  to  this  epoch,  ana 
there  find  some  authority.  Independence,  obedience,  sove- 
reignty, the  compromises  of  the  church  with  the  state, 
presbyterianism  or  episcopacy,  the  complete  absence  of  the 
clergy,  or  its  almost  exclusive  domination,  we  have  found  a\. 
these. 

We  have  just  examined  the  state  of  civil  society  after  the 
invasion,  in  the  sixth  and  seventh  centuries,  and  we  have; 
arrived  at  the  same  result.  Tliere,  likewise,  we  have  found 
the  germ,  the  example  of  all  the  systems  of  social  organization, 
and  of  government :  monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy; 
the  assemblies  of  free  men  ;  the  patronage  of  the  chief  of  the 
land  towards  his  warriors,  of  tlie  great  proprietor  towards  the 
inferior  proprietor,  royalty,  absolute  and  impotent,  elective 
and  hereditary,  barbarous,  imperial,  and  religious :  all  the 
principles,  in  a  word,  which  have  been  developed  in  the  life 
of  modern  Europe,  at  that  time  sinmltaneously  appeared 
to  us. 

There  is  a  remarkable  similarity  in  the  origin  and  primi- 
tive state  of  the  two  societies:  wealth  and  confusion  are  alii<e 
in  them ;  all  things  arc  there ;  none  in  its  place  and  propor- 
tion ;  order  will  come  with  development ;  in  being  developed, 
the  various  elements  will  be  disengaged  and  distinguished  ; 
each  will  display  its  pretensions  and  its  own  powers,  first  in 
order  to  combat,  and  afterwards  to  become  reconciled.  Such 
will  be  the  progressive  work  of  ages  and  of  man. 

It  is  at  this  work  that  we  have  hereafter  to  be  present ;  we 
nave  seen  in  the  cradle  of  the  two  societies  all  the  material 
elements,  and  all  the  rational  principles  of  modern  civilization  ; 
we  are  about  to  follow  them  in  their  struggles,  negotiations, 
amalgamations,  and  in  all  the  vicissitudes  both  of  tiicir  special 
and  their  common  destiny  This,  properly  speaking,  is  the 
history  of  civilization  ;  we  have  as  yet  only  arrived  at  the 
theatre  of  this  history,  and  named  its  actors. 

You  will  not  be  surprised  that  in  entering  upon  a  new  era 
we  sliould  first  encounter  the  religious  society  :  it  was,  as  you 
are  aware,  the  most  advanced  and  the  strongest ;  whether  in 
the  Roman  municipality,  in  the  palace  of  the  barbarous 
kings,  or  in  the  hierarchy  of  the  conquerors  now  become  pro- 
prietors, we  have  everywliere  recognized  the  presence  and 
influence  of  the  heads  of  the  church.  From  the  fourth  to  tht 
.hirteonth  century,  it  was  the  churcii  that  took  the  lead  in  th» 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  286 

career  of  civilization.  It  is  natural,  then,  that,  duiing  thie 
period,  every  time  that  we  have  made  a  halt,  and  again  moved 
forward,  it  should  be  with  her  that  we  recommence. 

We  shall  study  her  history  from  'he  sixth  to  the  eighth 
century,  under  the  two  points  of  view  already  indicated  ; 
1st,  in  her  relations  with  the  state;  2dly,  in  her  peculiar  and 
internal  constitution. 

But  before  approaching  either  of  these  questions,  and  the 
facts  which  are  attached  thereto,  I  must  call  your  attention  to 
a  fact  which  dominates  over  all,  which  characterizes  the 
Christian  church  in  general,  and  has,  as  it  were,  decided  her 
destiny. 

This  fact  is  the  unity  of  the  church,  the  unity  of  the  Chris- 
tian  society,  despite  all  the  diversities  of  time,  place,  domina- 
tion, language,  or  origin. 

Singular  phenomenon  !  It  was  at  the  very  time  that  the 
Roman  empire  fell  to  pieces  and  disappeared,  that  the  Chris- 
tian church  rallied,  and  definitively  formed  herself.  Poli- 
tical unity  perished,  religious  unity  arose.  I  know  not  how 
many  nations,  of  various  origins,  manners,  language,  and 
destiny,  are  thrown  upon  the  scene  ;  all  becomes  partial  and 
local ;  every  extended  idea,  every  general  institution,  every 
great  social  combination  vanishes ;  and  at  this  very  moment 
the  Christian  church  proclaims  the  unity  of  her  doctrine,  the 
universality  of  her  right. 

This  is  a  glorious  and  powerful  fact,  and  one  which,  from 
the  fifth  to  the  thirteenth  century,  has  rendered  immense 
services  to  humanity.  The  mere  fact  of  the  unity  of  the 
church,  maintained  some  tie  between  countries  and  nations 
that  everything  else  tended  to  separate ;  under  its  influence, 
some  general  notions,  some  sentiments  of  a  vast  sympathy 
continued  to  be  developed ;  and  from  the  very  heart  of  the 
most  frightful  political  confusion  that  the  world  has  ever 
known,  arose  perhaps  the  most  extensive  and  the  purest  idea 
that  has  ever  rallied  mankind,  the  idea  of  spiritual  society; 
for  that  is  the  philosophical  name  of  the  church,  the  type 
which  she  wished  to  realize. 

What  sense  did  men,  at  this  period,  attach  to  these  words, 
and  what  progress  had  they  already  made  in  this  path  ? 
What  was  actually,  in  minds  and  in  facts,  this  spiritual  socie- 
y,  the  object  of  their  ambition  and  respect  ?  How  was  il 
conceived  and  practised  ?  These  questions  must  be  answered 
in  order  to  know  what  is  meant  when  we  speak  of  the  unit) 


MO  HISTORY    OF 

of  the  church,  and  what  ought  to  be  thought  of  its  principled 
and  resuhs. 

A  common  conviction,  that  is  to  say,  an  identical  idea, 
acknowledged  and  received  as  true,  is  the  fundamental  basis, 
the  secret  tie  of  human  society.  One  may  stop  at  the  mosi 
confined  and  the  most  simple  association,  or  elevate  oneself 
to  the  most  complicated  and  extensive ;  we  may  examine 
what  passes  between  three  or  four  barbarians  united  for  a 
hunting  expedition,  or  in  the  midst  of  an  assembly  convoked 
to  treat  of  the  affairs  of  a  great  nation  ;  everywhere,  and 
under  all  circumstances,  it  is  in  the  adhesion  of  individuals  to 
the  same  thought,  that  the  fact  of  association  essentially 
consists  :  so  long  as  they  do  not  comprehend  one  another, 
they  are  mere  isolated  beings,  placed  by  the  side  of  one 
another,  but  not  holding  together.  A  similar  sentiment 
and  doctrine,  whatever  may  be  its  nature  or  object,  is  tlie 
first  condition  of  the  social  state;  it  is  in  the  midst  of 
truth  only,  or  in  what  they  take  for  truth,  that  men  become 
united,  and  that  society  takes  birth.  And  in  this  sense,  a 
modern  philosopher'  was  riglit  in  saying  that  there  is  no 
society  except  between  intellects;  that  society  only  subsists 
uj)on  points  and  within  limits,  where  the  union  of  intellects  is 
accomplished  ;  that  where  intellects  have  nothing  in  common, 
there  is  no  society  ;  in  other  words,  that  intellectual  society  is> 
the  only  society,  the  necessary  element,  and,  as  it  were,  the 
foundation  of  all  external  and  visible  associations. 

Now,  the  essential  element  of  truth,  and  precisely  what  is, 
in  fact,  the  social  tie,  par  excellence.,  is  unity.  Truth  is  one, 
therefore  the  men  who  have  acknowledged  and  accepted  it 
are  united  ;  a  union  which  has  in  it  nothing  accidental  nor 
arbitrary,  for  truth  neither  depends  upon  the  accidents  of 
things,  nor  upon  the  uncertainties  of  men  ;  nothing  transitory, 
for  truth  is  eternal ;  nothing  confined,  for  truth  is  complete 
and  infinite.  As  of  truth,  unity  tlien  will  be  the  essential 
characteristic  of  the  society  which  shall  have  truth  alone  for 
its  object,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  purely  religious  .society. 
There  is  not,  there  cannot  be,  two  spiritual  societies  ;  it  ia, 
from  its  nature,  sole  and  universal. 

Thus  did  the  church  tane  birth :  hence  that  unity  which 
she  proclaims  as  her  principle,  that  universality  which  haj 


•  M   I'AbbA  de  Latnunnais. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  241 

always  been  lier  ambition.  In  degrees  more  or  less  evidenti 
and  more  or  less  strict,  it  is  the  idea  which  rests  at  the  bottom 
of  all  her  doctrines,  wliich  hovers  over  all  her  works.  Long 
before  tlie  sixth  century,  from  the  very  cradle  ofChristianity, 
It  appears  in  the  writings  and  acts  of  its  most  illustrious  inter- 
oreters. 

}3ut  unity  of  truth  in  itself  is  not  sulTicient  for  the  rise  and 
subsistence  of  the  religious  society  ;  it  is  necessary  that  it 
should  be  evident  to  minds,  and  that  it  should  rally  them. 
Union  of  minds,  that  is  to  say,  spiritual  society,  is  the  conse- 
quence of  the  unity  of  truth  ;  but  so  long  as  this  union  is  not 
accomplished,  the  principle  wants  its  consequence,  spiritual 
society  does  not  exist.  Now,  upon  what  condition  do  minds 
unite  themselves  in  truth  ?  Upon  this  condition,'  that  they 
acknowledge  and  accept  its  empire  :  whoever  obeys  truth  with- 
out  knowing  it,  from  ignorance  and  not  from  light,  or  who- 
ever,  having  knowledge  of  the  truth,  refuses  to  obey  it,  is 
not  part  of  the  spiritual  society  ;  none  form  a  part  of  it  if 
they  do  not  see  nor  wish  it ;  it  excludes,  on  one  side,  igno- 
rance, and  on  the  other,  constraint  ;  it  exacts  from  all  its 
members  an  intimate  and  personal  adhesion  of  intellect  and 
liberty. 

Now,  at  the  epoch  upon  which  we  are  occupied,  this  second 
principle,  this  second  characteristic  of  spiritual  society,  was 
wanting  to  the  church.  It  would  be  unjust  to  say  that  it 
was  absolutely  unknown  to  her,  and  that  she  believed  that 
spiritual  society  could  exist  between  men  without  the  consent 
of  their  intellect  or  liberty.  Thus  put  in  its  simple  and 
naked  form,  this  idea  is  offensive  and  necessarily  repulsed ; 
besides,  the  full  and  vigorous  exercise  of  reason  and  will  was 
too  recent  and  still  too  frequent  in  the  church,  for  her  to  fall 
into  so  entire  an  oblivion.  Slie  did  not  affirm  that  truth  had 
a  right  to  employ  constraint ;  on  the  contrary,  she  incessantly 
repeated  that  spiritual  arms  were  the  only  arms  of  which 
she  could  and  ought  to  avail  herself.  But  this  principle,  if  I 
may  so  express  myself,  was  only  upon  the  surface  of  minds, 
and  evaporated  from  day  to  day.  The  idea  that  truth,  one 
and  universal^  had  a  right  to  pursue  by  force  the  conse- 
quences of  its  unity  and  universality,  became  from  day  to  day 
the  aommant,  active,  and  efficacious  idea.  Of  the  two  cori- 
ditions  of  spiritual  society,  the  rational  unity  of  doctrine 
and  the  actual  unitv  of  minds,   the  first   almost  solely  occu 


ii2  HISTORY    OF 

pied   the   church  ;    the  second  was  incessantly  forgotten  a\ 
violated. 

Many  centuries  tvere  necessary  in  order  to  give  to  it  its 
place  and  power,  that  is  to  say,  to  bring  out  the  true  nature 
of  spiritual  society,  its  complete  nature,  and  ti)e  harmony  ot 
its  elements.  It  was  long  tlie  general  error  to  believe  tlial 
the  empire  of  truth — that  is,  of  universal  reason — could  be 
established  without  the  free  exercise  of  individual  reason, 
without  respect  to  its  right,  Tiius  they  misundersiood  spiritual 
society,  even  in  announcing  it ;  they  exposed  it  to  the  risk  ot 
being  but  a  lying  illusion.  The  employment  of  force  does  far 
more  than  stain  it,  it  kills  it;  in  order  that  its  unity  may  be, 
not  only  pure,  but  real,  it  is  necessary  tliat  it  sliine  forth  in 
the  midst  of  the  development  of  all  intellects  and  all  liber 
ties. 

It  will  be  the  honor  of  our  times  to  have  penetrated  into 
the  essence  of  spiritual  society  much  further  than  the  world 
has  ever  yet  done,  to  have  much  more  completely  known  and 
asserted  it.  We  now  know  that  it  has  two  conditions  :  1st, 
the  presence  of  a  general  and  absolute  truth,  a  rule  of 
doctrines  and  human  action :  2d,  the  full  development  of  all 
intellects,  in  face  of  this  truth,  and  the  i'vce  adhesion  of  souls 
to  its  power.  Let  not  one  of  these  conditions  ever  allow 
us  to  forget  the  other;  let  not  the  idea  of  the  liberty  of 
minds  weaken  in  us  that  of  the  unity  of  spiritual  society  : 
because  individual  convictions  should  be  clear  and  free,  let 
us  not  be  tempted  to  believe  that  there  is  no  universal  truth 
which  has  a  right  to  command  ;  in  respecting  the  reason  of 
each,  do  not  lose  sight  of  the  one  and  sovereign  reason. 
The  history  of  human  society  has  hitherto  passed  alternately 
from  one  to  the  other  of  these  dispositions.  At  certain  epochs 
men  have  been  peculiarly  struck  with  the  nature  and  rights 
of  this  universal  and  absolute  truth,  the  legitimate  master  to 
whose  reign  they  aspired  :  they  flattered  themselves  that  at 
last  they  had  encountered  and  possessed  it,  and  in  their  foolish 
confidence  they  accorded  to  it  the  absolute  power  which  soon 
and  inevitably  engendered  tyranny.  After  having  long  sul)- 
mitted  to  and  respected  it,  nmi  recognized  it,  he  saw  the 
name  and  rights  of  truth  usurped  by  ignorant  or  perverse 
force  ;  then  he  was  more  irritated  with  the  idols  than  occupied 
with  God  himself;  the  unity  of  divine  reason,  if  I  may  be 
permitted  to  use  the  expression,  was  no  longer  the  objecl  of 
bis  habitual  contemplation  ;    he  above  all  thought  ui)on  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  J81J* 

iglit  of  human  reason  in  the  relations  of  men,  anJ  often 
finished  by  forgetting  that,  if  it  is  free,  the  will  is  not  arbitra- 
ry ;  tliat  if  there  is  a  right  of  inquiry  for  individual  reason,  it 
is  still  subordinate  to  that  general  reason  which  serves  for  the 
measure  and  touchstone  of  all  minds.  And  even  as  in  the 
first  instance  there  was  tyranny,  so  in  the  second  there  was 
nnarohy,  that  is  to  say,  the  absence  of  general  and  powerful 
belief,  the  absence  of  principles  in  the  soul,  and  of  union  in 
society.  One  may  hope  that  our  time  is  called  to  avoid  each 
of  these  sandf-baiiks,  for  it  is,  if  I  may  so  speak,  in  possession 
of  the  chart  which  points  them  both  out.  The  development 
of  civilization  must  be  accomplished  hereafter  under  the 
simultaneous  influence  of  a  two-fold  reverence  ;  universal 
reason  will  be  sought  as  the  supreme  law,  the  final  aim  ;  in- 
dividual reason  will  be  free,  and  invoked  to  develope  itself  as 

he  best  means  of  attaining  to  universal  reason.  And  if 
spiritual  society  be  never  complete  and  pure — the  imperfec- 
tion of  humanity  will  not  allow  it — at  least  its  unity  will  no 
longer  run  the  risk  of  being  factitious  and  fraudulent.  You 
have  had  a  glance  at  the  state  of  minds  concerning  this  great 
idea,  at  the  epoch  upon  which  we  are  occupied  :  let  us  pass 
to  the  state  of  facts,  and  see  what  practical  consequence  had 
already  been  produced  by  that  unity  of  the  church,  of  which 
we  have  just  described  the  rational  characteristics. 

It  was  seen  above  all  in  the  ecclesiastical  legislation,  and  it 
was  so  much  the  more  conspicuous  there,  from  being  in  con- 
tradiction to  all  that  passed  elsewhere.  We  have  studied  in 
our  last  lectures  civil  legislation  from  the  fifth  to  the  eighth 
century  ;  and  diversity,  which  gradually  increased,  has  ap- 
peared to  us  its  fundamental  trail.  The  tendency  of  religioua 
society  is  very  difFercnt  ;  it  aspired  to  a  unity  in  laws,  and 
attained  it.  And  it  is  not  that  she  exclusively  drew  her  laws 
from  the  primitive  monuments  of  religion,  from  the  sacred 
books,  always  and  everywhere  the  same  :  in  proportion  as  she 
was  developed,  new  desires  were  manifested,  new  laws  were 
necessary,  or  a  new  legislator.  Who  should  it  be  ?  The 
east  was  separated  from  the  west,  the  west  was  daily  parcelled 
out  into  distinct  and  independent  states.  Should  there  be,  for 
the  church  thus  dispersed,  many  legislators?  Shall  the 
councils  of  Gaul,  Spain,  or  Italy,  give  them  religious  laws  ? 
No  ;  there  shall  be  an  universal  and  sole  legislation  for  the 
whole  church,  superior  to  all  the  diversities  of  national 
shurchcs  and  councils,  and  to  all  the  differences  which  are 
86 


244 


HISTORY    OP 


necessarily  introduced  into  discipline,  worship,  and  usages 
The  decrees  of  the  general  councils  shall  everywhere  be  ob« 
ligalory  and  accepted.  From  the  fourth  to  the  eighth  cun- 
tury  there  were  six  oecumenical  or  general  councils  ;  they 
were  all  held  in  the  east,  by  the  bishops  of  the  east,  and  un. 
der  the  influence  of  the  eastern  emperors  ;  there  were  scarcely 
any  bishops  from  the  west  among  them.'  Yet,  despite  so 
many  causes  for  misunderstanding  and  separation,  desj)ite  tiio 
diversity  ol' languages,  governments,  and  manners,  and  more- 
over, despite  the  rivalry  of  the  patriaichs  of  Rome,  Constanti- 
nople, and  Alexandria,  the  legislation  of  the  general  councils 
was  everywhere  adopted ;  the  west  and  the  east  alike  yielded 
to  it;  a  few  only  of  the  decrees  of  the  fifth  council  were  for 
a  moment  contested.  So  powerful  already  was  the  idea  of 
unity  in  the  church  ;  such  was  the  spiritual  tie  dominating  all 
things ! 

With  regard  to  the  second  principle  of  spiritual  society, 
liberty  of  minds,  some  distinction  must  be  made  between  the 
east  and  the  west ;  the  state  of  facts  was  not  the  same  in 
them. 

In  setting  forth  the  state  of  the  church  in  the  fourth  and  fifth 
centuries,  I  have  made  you  acquainted  with  the  disposition 
of  the  legislation,  and  of  minds  generally,  with  regard  to 
heresy.  The  principle  of  persecution,  you  will  recollect,  was 
neither  clearly  established,  nor  constantly  dominant  ;  still  it 
gradually  prevailed  ;  in  spite  of  the  generous  protestations  of 
some  bishops,  in  spite  of  the  variety  of  cases,  the  laws  of 
Theodosius,  the  persecution  of  the  Arians,  the  Donalists,  the 
Pelagians,  and  the  punishment  of  the  Priscillianists,  do  not 
admit  a  doubt  of  this. 


I  Table  of  the  General  Councils  from  the  Fourth  to  the  Eighth 
Century. 


Date. 

Place. 

Present. 

Eastern. 

Western. 

325 

Nicea      .     .     . 

318 

315 

3 

381 

Constantinople 

150 

119 

1 

431 

Ephesua 
Chalcedonia   . 

68 

67 

1 

451 

353 

350 

3 

553 

Constantinople 

164 

158 

& 

680 

Constantinople 

56 

51 

5 

CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  24h 

Datii),-^  from  the  sixth  century,  and  in  the  Empire  of  the 
;ast,  the  true  successor  and  continuator  of  the  Roman  empire, 
events  and  ideas  followed  the  same  course ;  the  principle  of 
persecution  was  developed ;  the  history  of  the  Monnphysites 
ind  Monothelites,  that  of  many  other  heresies,  and  the  legis- 
ation  of  Justinian,  give  proof  of  this. 

In  the  west,  the  invasion  and  all  its  consequences  for  some 
time  del.aycd  its  progress  ;  almost  all  intellectual  movement 
came  to  a  stand  still.  Amidst  the  incessant  confusion  of  life, 
what  room  could  be  left  for  contemplation  and  study  ?  Here- 
sies were  rare;  the  contest  continued  between  the  Arians  and 
the  orthodox  ;  but  we  see  but  kw  new  doctrines  arise,  and 
thost'  which  attempted  to  introduce  themselves  were  scarcely 
anything  more  than  a  weak  echo  o(  the  heresies  of  the  east. 
Persecution,  therefore,  so  to  speak,  wanted  matter  and  occa- 
sion. Besides,  the  bishops  did  not  in  any  way  provoke  it; 
more  pressing  alTairs  occupied  them  ;  the  situation  of  the 
church  was  perilous ;  she  not  only  was  under  the  necessity 
of  occupying  herself  about  her  temporal  interests,  but  her 
safety,  her  very  existence,  was  in  danger ;  they  cared  little 
for  minor  varieties  of  opinion.  Fifty-four  councils  were  held 
in  Gaul  in  the  sixth  century ;  two  only,  that  of  Orange  and 
that  of  Valentia,  in  .'329,  occupied  themselves  with  dogmas  ; 
they  c  rfidemncd  the  heresy  of  the  semi-Pelagians,  which  the 
fiflh  century  had  bequeathed  to  them. 

Lastly,  the  barbaric  kings,  the  new  masters  of  the  soil,  took 
but  little  interest,  and  rarely  any  part  in  such  debates.  The 
emperors  of  the  east  were  theologians  as  well  as  bishops  ;  they 
had  been  born  and  bred  in  theology ;  they  had  personal  and 
fixed  opinions  concerning  its  problems  and  quarrels.  Jus- 
tinian and  Heraclius  willingly  engaged  upon  their  own 
account  in  the  suppression  of  heresy.  Unless  impelled  by 
some  powerful  political  motive,  neither  Gondebald,  Chilperic, 
nor  Gontran,  troubled  themselves  in  the  matter.  Numerous 
actions  and  words  have  come  down  to  us  of  the  Burgundian, 
Gothic,  and  Frank  kings,  which  prove  how  little  they  were 
disposed  to  exert  their  power  in  such  causes.  "  We  cannot 
command  religion,"  said  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Ostrogoths ; 
"  no  one  can  be  forced  to  believe,  in  spite  of  himself."'  .  .  . 
"  Since  the  Deity  sufTers  various  religions,"  said  King  Theo 


'  Cassiod.  Variar.  Ep.  1.  xi.,ep.  27. 


246  HisTonv  of 

dohat,  "  we  dare  not  prescribe  a  single  one.  We  remembei 
having  read  that  God  must  be  sacrificed  to  willingly,  and  not 
under  the  constraint  of  a  master.  Those,  therefore,  who  at- 
tempt to  do  otherwise,  evidently  oppose  themselves  to  the 
divine  commands."' 

Doubtless,  Cassiodorus  here  lends  to  the  two  Gothic  kings 
the  superiority  of  his  reason  ;  but  they  adopted  his  language ; 
and  in  many  other  cases,  whether  it  be  ignorance  or  good 
eense,  we  find  the  barbaric  princes  manifesting  the  same  dis- 
'iosition. 

In  fact,  therefore,  from  the  concurrence  of  various  causes, 
,he  second  condition  of  spiritual  society,  liberty  of  minds,  was 
&t  this  epoch  less  violated  in  the  west  than  in  the  east.  It  is 
necessary,  however,  not  to  be  mistaken  in  this  matter  ;  it  was 
but  an  accident,  the  temporary  efluct  of  external  circum- 
stances ;  at  bottom  the  principle  was  equally  overlooked,  and 
the  general  course  of  things  tended  equally  to  bring  about  the 
prevalence  of  persecution. 

You  see  that,  in  spite  of  some  differences,  the  unity  of  the 
church,  with  all  the  consequences  attached  thereto,  was  every, 
where  the  dominant  fact,  alike  in  the  west  and  in  tlie  east; 
alike  in  the  social  state  and  in  minds  generally.  That  was 
the  principle  which,  in  religious  society,  presided  over  opinions, 
laws,  and  actions,  the  point  from  wliicli  tiiey  always  started; 
the  end  to  which  tliey  incessantly  tended.  From  the  fourth 
century,  this  idea  was,  as  it  were,  the  star  under  whose  influ- 
ence  religious  society  was  developed  in  Europe,  and  which  it 
is  necessary  to  keep  always  in  view,  in  order  to  follow  and  to 
comprehend  the  vicissitudes  of  its  destiny. 

This  point  agreed  upon,  and  the  characteristic  fact  of  this 
epoch  being  well  established,  let  us  enter  upon  the  particular 
examination  of  the  state  of  the  church,  and  seek  what  were: 
first,  her  relations  with  civil  society  and  its  government ; 
secondly,  her  peculiar  and  internal  organization. 

I  would  pray  you  to  recall  what  I  said  when  speaking  of 
the  church  in  the  fifth  century :  it  appeared  to  us  that  her  re- 
lations with  the  state  might  be  determined  into  four  diirerenl 
systems :  1st,  the  complete  independence  of  the  church ;  the 
unnoticed  and  unknown  church,  receiving  neitiier  law  noi 
support  from  the  state ;  2dly,  the  sovereignty  of  the  state  over 


Cassiod.   l^ariar.  JUjt.  1.  x  ,  ep.  26 


CtVILlZATION    IN    FRANCfi.  241 

lh«'  cnurch :  religious  society  governed,  if  not  completely,  at 
.cast  in  its  princijial  elements,  by  the  civil  power;  3cily,  tho 
sovereignty  of  the  church  over  the  state  :  the  temporal  govern, 
nicnt,  if  not  directly  possessed,  nt  least  completely  dominated 
by  the  spiritual  power ;  4thly,  and  lastly,  the  co-existence  of 
the  two  societies,  the  two  powers,  which,  though  separate,  were 
allied  by  certain  various  and  variable  conditions,  which  united 
without  confounding  them. 

VVe,  at  tiie  same  time,  recognized  that  in  the  fifth  century 
this  latter  system  prevailed  ;  that  the  Christian  church  and 
the  Roman  empire  both  existed,  as  two  distinct  societies,  each 
having  its  government  and  laws,  but  adopting  and  mutually 
sustaining  each  other.  In  the  midst  of  their  reliance,  we 
discovered  traces  still  visible  of  another  principle,  of  an  ante- 
rior state,  the  sovereignty  of  the  state  over  'he  church,  the 
intervention  and  decided  preponderance  of  the  emperors  in 
her  administration  ;  lastly,  but  only  in  the  distance,  we 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  church  over  the 
state,  the  domination  over  the  temporal  government  by  the 
spiritual  power. 

Such  appeared  to  us,  in  its  whole,  the  situation  of  the 
Christian  cnurch  of  the  fifteenth  century  in  her  relations  with 
the  state. 

In  the  sixth  century,  if  we  regard  tho  eastern  empire,  ovoi 
which  it  is  always  necessary  to  extend  our  view  in  order  to 
comprehend  properly  what  happened  in  the  west,  and  the 
changes  which  the  barbaric  invasion  brought  about  in  the 
course  of  things,  we  shall  be  struck  by  two  simultaneous 
facts : — 

1st.  The  clergy,  especially  the  episcopacy,  unceasingly 
procured  from  the  emperors  new  fa'ors  and  privileges.  Jus- 
tinian gave  to  the  bishops :  1st,  the  civil  jurisdiction  over 
monks  and  nuns,  the  same  as  over  clerks ;'  2d,  the  inspec- 
tion of  property  ir  cities,  and  the  preponderance  in  all  muni- 
cipal administration  -^  3d,  the  enfranchisement  from  paternal 
Dower  ;•'  4th,  he  forbad  the  judges  calling  them  as  witnesses, 
and  demanding  an  oath  of  them.*  Herodius  granted  them 
he  criminal  jurisdiction   over  clerks.'     The   influence   and 


'  Xov.  Justin.,  79,  83  ;  a.d.  535.         »  Cod.  Justin  ,  i.,  tit  iv.,  1  21 
JVov.  81  *  JVov.  123,  c.  7 

Gicst'Ior,  Lehrbuch  der  Kirchengeschichte,  t.  i.,  p.  602. 


as  HISTORY    OF 

immunities  of  religious  society  in  civil  society  were  ever  in 
creasing. 

2d.  The  emperors,  however,  iriixed  themselves  more  and 
more  in  the  affairs  of  the  church  ;  not  only  in  her  relalions 
with  the  state,  but  in  her  internal  affairs,  constitution,  and 
discipline.  And  not  only  did  they  meddle  with  her  govern- 
ment, but  they  interfered  in  her  creeds;  they  gave  decrees  in 
favor  of  such  and  such  a  dogma  j  they  regulated  the  faith. 

Upon  the  whole,  the  authority  of  the  eastern  emperors  over 
religious  society  was  more  general,  active,  frequent,  despotic, 
than  it  had  ever  been  hitherto  ;  despite  the  progress  of  her 
privileges,  the  situation  of  the  church  with  regard  to  the  civil 
power  was  weak,  inferior,  and  fallen  off  from  what  it  was  in 
the  ancient  Empire. 

Two  contemporaneous  texts  will  prevent  your  doubting 
this. 

In  the  middle  of  the  sixth  century,  the  Franks  sent  an  em- 
bassy  to  Constantinople ;  the  clergy  of  Italy  wrote  to  the 
Frank  envoys  to  give  them,  as  to  the  empire  of  the  east,  such 
information  as  they  believed  might  be  beneficial  to  the  suocesh 
of  their  mission : 

"  The  Greek  bishops,"  it  said  to  them,  "  have  groat  and 
opulent  churches,  and  they  cannot  bear  being  suspended  twc 
months  from  the  government  of  ecclesiastical  affairs ;  so  ac- 
commodating themselves  to  the  age,  and  to  the  will  of  princes, 
they  consent  without  contest  to  all  that  is  demanded  of 
them.'" 

The  next  is  a  document  which  speaks  still  more  emphati- 
cally. Maurice,  emperor  of  the  east  (582 — 602),  had  inter- 
dieted  all  persons  occupied  in  civil  functions  from  becoming 
clerks  or  entering  a  monastery  ;  he  had  sent  this  law  to  Rome, 
to  [X)pe  Gregory  the  Great,  in  order  that  he  might  spread  it 
in  the  west.  Rome  was  only  held  to  the  Greek  enipire  by  a 
feeble  tie;  Gregory  had  not  in  reality  anything  to  fear  from 
the  emperor  ;  he  was  ardent  and  proud  ;  the  decree  of  Mau- 
rice oiiendcd  him;  he  wished  to  mark  his  disapprobation, 
[)erhapseven  attempt  some  resistance  ,  he  thus  terminated  hia 
elter : 

"I,  who  say  these  things  to  my  lords,  what  am  I,  but  dusT 
)r  an  earth-worm  ?    Still,  as  1  think  that  this  law  goes  againa: 


Mansi.  Cone,  t.  ix  ,  p.  153 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  24fl 

Ood,  tlie  author  of  all  things,  I  cannot  conceal  this  thought 
from  iny  lords ;  and  see  what  Christ  answers  to  it,  in  saying 
o  you,  through  me,  the  last  of  his  servants  and  yours  :  <  From 
secretary  I  have  made  thee  count  of  the  guards,  from  count 
of  tlio  guards,  CuRsar,  from  Caesar,  emperor,  and  not  only  eii> 
peror,  but  also  father  of  an  emperor  ;  I  have  confided  my 
priests  to  thy  hands,  and  thou  withdrawest  thy  soldiers  from 
my  service.'  I  pray  thee,  most  pious  lord,  say  to  thy  ser- 
vant, what  wilt  thou  answer  at  the  day  of  judgment  to  thy 
God.  who  will  come  and  say  these  things  to  thee  ? 

"  As  for  mc,  submitting  to  tiiy  order,  I  have  sent  this  law 
to  the  various  countries  of  the  earth,  and  I  have  said  to  my 
serene  lords,  in  this  paper,  whereon  I  have  deposited  my  re- 
flections, that  this  law  goes  against  that  of  the  all-powerful 
God;  I  have  tlierefore  fulfdled  my  duty  upon  each  side;  I 
have  rendered  obedience  to  Csesar,  and  I  have  not  been  silent 
as  to  what  appeared  to  me  against  God.'" 

Of  a  surety,  from  such  a  man,  in  such  a  situation,  and 
with  such  a  design,  the  tone  of  this  letter  is  singularly  mild 
and  modest.  Some  centuries  later,  Gregory  would  have  used 
a  very  different  language  towards  even  the  nearest  and  most 
redoubtable  sovereign.  The  language  which  he  adopts  here, 
can  have  no  other  cause  than  tlie  habits  of  subordination  and 
.dependence  of  the  church  towards  the  eastern  emperors, 
amidst  the  continual  extension  of  her  immunities. 

Tlie  church  :f  the  tvest,  after  the  invasion  and  under  the 
barbaric  kings,  offers  a  different  spectacle.  Her  new  masters 
mixed  themselves  in  no  manner  with  her  dogmas ;  they  lefl 
her,  in  matters  of  faith,  to  act  and  govern  herself  as  she 
pleased.  They  interfered  almost  as  little  in  her  discipline, 
properly  so  called,  in  the  relations  of  the  clergy  among  them- 
selves. But  in  all  which  concerned  the  relations  between  the 
religious  and  civil  societies,  in  all  that  could  interest  temporal 
power,  the  church  lost  independence  and  privilege  ;  she  was 
less  free,  and  not  treated  so  well  as  under  the  Roman  empe- 
rors. 1st.  You  have  seen  that,  before  the  fall  of  the  Empire, 
tne  bishops  were  elected  by  the  clergy  and  the  people.  The 
emperor  only  interfered  in  rare  cases,  in  the  election  for  the 
most  considerable  towns.  It  was  no  longer  so  in  Gaul  af\er 
lie  establishment  of  the  barbaric  monarchies.     The  churchca 


'  Greg.  M.  Epist  ,  1.  iii.,  ep.  65,  to  the  empercr  Maurice. 


J^«l  HISTORY   OF 

vfi.m  WiBalthy  ;  the  barbaric  kings  made  them  a  means  of  re 
compensing  their  servants  and  enricliing  themselves.  In  nu- 
merous  instances,  they  directly  nominated  the  bisliops,  'i'lifl 
fjhurch  protested  ;  slie  claimed  the  election ;  she  did  nul 
always  succeed  therein  j  many  bishops  were  retained  in  the 
<ees  where  they  liad  been  placed  by  the  kings  alone.  Still 
•Jie  fact  was  not  changed  into  a  matter  of  right,  and  continued 
X)  pass  for  an  abuse.  The  kings  themselves  admit  this  on 
<riany  occasions.  The  church,  by  degrees,  regained  the  elec- 
/ion;  but  she  also  gave  way  in  her  turn  ;  she  granted  that 
ifter  the  election  the  confirmation  of  tlie  king  was  necessary. 
The  bishop,  who  formerly  took  possession  of  his  see,  from  the 
.ime  that  he  was  consecrated  by  the  archbishop,  now  ascended 
not  bis  throne  until  after  obtaining  the  sanction  of  royalty, 
fvuob  js  not  only  the  fact,  but  the  religious  and  civil  law. 

"  Let  no  person  be  permitted,"  orders  the  council  of  Or- 
leans in  549,  "  to  acquire  a  see  by  means  of  money  ;  but  witii 
the  consent  of  the  king,  let  him  who  shall  have  been  elected 
by  the  clergy  and  the  people,  be  consecrated  bishop  by  the 
archbishop  and  his  suffragans." 

"  Upon  the  death  of  a  bishop,"  says  Clotaire  II.,  in  615, 
"  he  who  is  to  be  ordained  in  his  place  by  the  archbishop 
and  his  sulHagans,  shall  be  elected  by  the  clergy  and  the 
people,  and  ordained  by  the  order  of  the  prince." 

The  contest  between  election  and  royal  nomination  was 
often  reproduced  j  but  in  every  case  the  necessity  of  confir- 
mation was  acknowledged. 

2d.  As  under  the  Roman  empire,  councils  could  not  be 
convoked  but  with  the  consent  of  the  prince,  and  he  threat- 
ened  the  bishops  when  they  attempted  to  evade  it.  "  We  have 
learnt  from  public  report,"  wrote  king  Sigbert  to  Didier, 
bishop  of  Cahors,  in  the  seventh  century,  "  that  you  have 
been  convoked  by  .  .  .  the  bishop  of  Vulfoleud,  to  hold  a 
council  in  our  kingdom,  the  1st  of  September  .  .  .  with  the 
others  .  .  .  bishops  of  your  province.  .  .  .  Although  we  desire 
to  maintain  the  observance  of  the  canons  and  ecclesiastical 
rules,  as  they  were  preserved  by  our  ancestors,  still  because 
we  have  not  been  made  acquainted  with  the  convocation  of  this 
assembly,  we  have  agreed,  with  our  great  men,  not  to  sujfer  this 
counzil  to  be  held  without  our  knowledge  in  our  stales ;  and 
that  no  bishops  of  our  kingdom  shall  assemble  at  the  approach- 
ing calends  of  Septenjber.  In  future,  if  we  have  timely 
intimation  of  the  object  of  a  council,  whether  it  meets  in 


CIVUIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  580i 

trdor  to  regulate  the  discipline  of  the  church,  or  for  the  good 
of  the  state,  or  for  otiicr  affairs,  we  shall  not  refuse  our  con- 
sent to  its  meeting;  provided,  however,  that  information  is 
first  given  us  of  it.  Tlie  reason  we  write  you  this  letter  is, 
to  forbid  your  attending  this  assembly."  The  monuments, 
the  very  acts  of  thirteen  councils  assembled  in  the  sixth  and 
seventh  centuries,  formally  express  tha  *hey  were  convoked 
by  the  order,  and  held  with  the  consent  of  the  king.'  I  do 
not  doubt,  iiowcvcr,  but  in  this,  the  fact  was  very  often  con- 
trary to  the  acknowledged  right,  and  that  a  number  of  coun- 
oils,  esoecially  tlie  mere  provincial  councils,  tnet  and  regulated 
their  aflafrs  without  any  authorization. 

3d.  Some  writers''  have  thought  that  the  independence  of 
tlie  church  also  suffered  from  an  institution  which  was  morp; 
developed  among  the  Franks  than  elsewhere  ;  I  i  jiean  the 
chapel  of  the  king,  and  the  priest  who  had  the  direction  of  it, 
under  the  name  of  ArchicapcIIanus,  Abbas  regii  oraforii  Apo- 
crisiariu^.  At  first  charged  only  with  the  exercise  of  wor. 
ship  in  the  interior  of  the  palace,  this  superior  of  the  chapel, 
assumed  gradually  more  importance,  and  became,  to  speak 
in  the  language  so  little  applicable  of  our  own  times,  a  kind 
of  minister  of  ecclesiastical  aftairs  for  the  whole  kingdom  ; 
it  is  supposed  these  were  managed  almost  entirely  by  his  in- 
termediation, and  that  by  his  means  royalty  exorcised  a  great 
influence  over  them.  It  may  be  that  this  influence  was  real 
a*  certain  times,  under  such  or  such  a  king,  under  Charle- 
magne, for  example ;  but  I  very  much  doubt  that  in  general, 


These  are : 

1. 

The 

ouncil  of  Orleans,  in 

511. 

2. 

— 

<( 

Orleans,  in 

533. 

3. 

— 

«« 

Clermont,  in  535 

4. 

— 

(( 

Orleans,  in 

549 

5. 

— 

<< 

Paris,  in 

556 

6. 

— 

" 

Tours,  in 

567 

7. 

— 

CI 

Lyons,  in 
Chalons,  in 

575. 

8. 

— 

«« 

579. 

9. 

— 

(( 

Macon,  in 

581. 

10. 

— 

(( 

Valencia,  in 

5S4, 

11. 

— 

It 

Verdun 

12. 

— 

«« 

Paris,  in 

615. 

13. 

— 

«« 

Chalons,  in 

650 

Among  others. 

RI.  PI 

anck, 

in 

his  History  i 

of  the  Constttutiryn  i  f 

.^le  Christian  Church  (in 

I  German),  a  work  oT  rare  pcicnce  and  impa; 

tia.ity. — See  vol.  ii 

.,147 

262  HISTORY    OF 

and  of  itself,  the  institution  was  efficacious ;  it  would  serve 
rather  the  power  of  the  church  over  the  king,  than  that  of  the 
king  in  the  church. 

4th.  There  was  something  more  real  in  the  restrictions  to 
which,  at  this  epoch,  the  ecclesiastical  privileges  were  subject- 
ed. Tiiey  were  numerous  and  important.  For  example,  it 
was  forbidden  any  bishop  to  ordain  a  free  man  as  priest  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  king.'  Priests  were  exempt  from  mili- 
tary  service  ;  the  king  did  not  choose  that  free  men  should 
relieve  themselves  at  will  by  means  of  this  title.  Tlie  church, 
therefore,  at  this  epoch  was  peopled  with  slaves  ;  it  was  espe- 
cially among  her  own  slaves,  among  the  scfs  and  laborers  of 
her  domains,  that  she  recruited  herself;  \nd  this  circum- 
stance,  perhaps,  is  one  of  those  which  have  not  least  contri- 
buted to  the  efforts  of  the  church  for  ameliorating  the  condi- 
tion of  the  serfs.  Many  priests  were  taken  from  among 
them  ;  and,  independently  of  religious  motives,  they  knew  the 
miseries  of  their  situation,  they  bore  some  sympathy  for  those 
.who  were  plunged  in  it.  In  criminal  matters,  the  priests  in 
the  west  had  not  obtained  the  privilege  which  Heraclius  had 
granted  to  those  in  the  east  ;  they  were  tried  by  the  ordinary 
lay  judges.  In  civil  matters  the  clergy  judged  itself,  but  only 
in  cases  where  the  cause  interested  simply  priests  ;  if  the 
difference  was  between  a  priest  and  a  layman,  the  layman 
was  not  bound  to  appear  before  the  bishop ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  had  the  priest  before  his  judges.  With  regard  to  public 
charges,  there  were  certain  churches  whose  domains  were 
exempt,  and  the  number  of  these  daily  increased  ;  but  the 
immunity  was  ty  no  means  general.  Upon  the  whole,  imme- 
diately after  the  invasion,  in  *ts  principal  relations  with  the 
temporal  power,  the  clergy  of  Prankish  Gaul  seemed  less  in- 
dependent,  and  invested  with  less  privileges,  than  it  was  in 
Ronian  Gaul. 

But  means  were  not  wanting  both  to  regain  in  time  advan- 
tages, and  to  assure  iierself  of  large  compensations.  By  not 
in  atiy  way  intejfering  in  dogmatical  points,  that  is,  in  the  in- 
tellectual government  of  the  cimrch,  the  barbaric  kings  lefl 
to  her  ti»e  most  fertile  source  of  power.  She  knew  how  to 
draw  largely  upon  it.  In  the  east,  the  laity  took  part  in  the. 
ology  and  in  the  influence  which  it  conferred.     In  the  wcst^ 


»    C(  uncil  of  Orlean.i,  ill  511,  can  rt. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  253 

he  clergy  alone  addressed  itself  to  minds,  and  alone  was 
master  of  them.  It  alone  spoke  to  the  people,  and  alone  ral 
lied  tliem  around  certain  ideas  wliich  became  laws.  It  wag 
by  this  means  especially  that  it  re-acquired  power,  and  repaired 
the  losses  to  which  tl)e  invasion  had  subjected  it.  Towards 
the  end  of  the  epoch  upon  which  we  are  occupied,  this  had 
already  brconie  visible.  The  church  evidently  recovered 
from  tlie  shocks  which  had  been  given  her  by  the  disorder  of 
t'le  times  and  tlie  brutal  avidity  of  the  barbarians.  She  made 
licr  ri'rht  of  asylum  acknowledged  and  consecrated.  She 
acfjuired  a  kind  of  right  of  superintendence  and  revision  over 
the  lay  judges  of  an  inferior  order.  The  consequences  of 
her  jurisdiction  over  all  sins  were  developed.  By  wills  and 
marriages,  she  penetrated  more  and  more  into  the  civil  order. 
Ecclesiastical  judges  were  associated  with  lay  judges  every 
time  a  priest  was  concerned  in  the  suit.  Lastly,  the  presence 
of  the  bishops,  whether  with  the  king,  in  the  assembly  of 
great  men,  or  in  the  hierarchy  of  proprietors,  assured  them  a 
powerful  participation  in  the  political  order  ;  and  if  the  sove- 
reign power  meddled  in  church  affairs,  the  church,  in  her 
turn,  extended  her  action  and  power  more  and  more  into  the 
aifairs  of  the  world. 

This  is  tlie  donunant  character  of  this  epoch,  as  regards  the 
reciprocal  situation  of  the  civil  and  religious  society.  The 
temporal  and  spiritual  powers  approached,  penetrated,  and 
encroached  more  and  more  upon  each  other.  Before  ths  in- 
vasion, when  the  Empire  was  still  erect,  although  the  two  so- 
cieties were  already  strongly  entwined  with  one  another,  still 
there  was  a  profound  distinction.  The  independence  of  the 
church  was  sufficiently  complete  in  what  directly  concerned 
her  ;  and  in  temporal  matters,  although  she  had  much  influ- 
ence,  she  had  hardly  any  direct  action  except  upon  the  muni- 
cipal  system,  and  in  the  midst  of  cities.  For  the  genera, 
government  of  the  state,  the  emperor  had  his  machinery  all 
prepared,  his  councils,  magistrates,  and  armies ;  in  a  word, 
the  political  order  was  complete  and  regular,  apart  from  the 
icligious  society  and  its  government.  After  the  invasion, 
amidst  the  dissolution  of  the  political  order,  and  the  universal 
irouble,  the  limits  of  the  two  governments  vanished  ;  they 
lived  from  day  to  day  without  principles,  without  settled  con- 
ditions ;  they  encountered  everywhere,  clashing,  confounded, 
disputing  the  means  of  action,  struggling  together  in  darkness 
jnd  by  chance.     Of  this  irregular  co-existence  of  temporal 


254  HISTORY    OF 

and  spiritual  power,  this  fantastical  entanglement  of  thei. 
attributes,  these  reciprocal  usurpations,  this  uncertainty  as  to 
their  limits,  all  tiiis  chaos  of  church  and  state,  which  has 
played  so  great  a  part  in  our  history,  which  has  brought  forth 
so  many  events  and  theories,  it  is  to  the  epoch  whicli  now  oc- 
cupies us  that  the  origin  must  be  assigned  ;  that  only  is  its 
most  striking  feature. 

In  our  next  lecture  we  shall  occupy  ourse  ves  with  the 
ii  ternal  organization  of  the  church,  and  the  changes  which 
lianpcned  in  it  during  the  same  period. 


CIVIL  2. T. ON    IN    FilANCE.  256 


THIRTEENTH  LECTURE. 

3f  tlm  internal  organization  and  state  of  the  Gallo-Frankish  chun-li^ 
from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century— Characteristic  facts  of  the 
Gaulish  church  at  the  fifth  century— What  became  of  thett  after  tlic 
invasion — The  exclusive  domination  of  the  clergy  in  tiic  religiouj 
society  continues—Facts  which  modify  it :  1.  Separation  of  ordina- 
tion and  tenure  ;  pricst^s  not  ecclesiastics — 2.  Patronage  by  laymen 
of  the  churches  which  they  founded — 3.  Oratories,  or  particular 
chapels— 4.  Advocates  o(  the  churches— Picture  of  the  general  orga- 
nization of  the  church— Parishes  and  their  i)ricst3— Archpriests  and 
archdeacons— Hishops— Archbishops— Attempts  to  establish  the  pa- 
triarchates in  the  west— Fall  of  the  archbishops — Preponderance 
and  despotism  of  the  episcopacy  —  Struggle  of  the  priests  and 
oarishes  against  the  bishops— The  bishops  triumphant— Despotism 
corrupts  them — Decline  of  the  secular  clergy — Necessity  for  a  re- 
formation. 

We  have  seen  what  were  the  relations  between  the  church 
aiifi  the  state,  and  their  principal  modifications,  in  Prankish 
Gaul,  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century.  We  shall  now 
examine  the  peculiar  and  internal  organization  of  the  church 
at  the  same  epoch  ;   it  is  curious  and  full  of  vicissitudes. 

It  will  be  recollected  that  a  religious  society  may  be  con- 
stituted according  to  two  principal  systems.  In  one,  the  faith- 
ful,  the  laymen,  as  well  as  the  priests,  take  part  in  the  govern- 
ment ;  the  religious  society  is  not  under  the  exclusive  empirb 
of  the  ecclesiastical  society.  In  the  other  system,  power  be- 
longs to  the  clergy  alone  ;  laymen  are  strangers  to  it ;  it  ia 
the  ecclesiastical  society  which  governs  the  religious  society. 

This  fundamental  distinction  once  established,  we  have  seen 
that  in  each  of  these  two  great  systems,  totally  various  modes 
of  organization  might  be  developed  :  where  religious  society 
governed  itself,  for  example,  it  might  be — 1st,  that  the  local 
associations  were  united  in  one  general  church,  under  the 
direction  of  one  or  more  assemblies,  where  the  ecclesiastics 
and  the  laity  were  together;  2dly,  that  there  should  be  no 
general  and  sole  church,  that  each  particular  congregation, 
each  local  church  should  govern  itself;  3dly,  that  there  should 
be  no  clergy,  properly  so  called,  no  men  invested  with  per 
manent  spiritual  power ;  that  the  laity  should  fulfil  the  reli- 
gious functions.     These  three  modes  of   organization  have 


25(J  HISTORY    OF 

been  realized  by  the  Presbyterians,  the  Independents,  ani  tht 
Quakers. 

If  the  clergy  alone  dominates,  if  the  religious  society  ia 
under  subjection  to  the  ecclesiastical  society,  this  latter  may 
be  monarcliically,  aristocratically,  or  democratically  consti 
tuled  and  governed,  by  the  papal  power,  the  episcopacy,  or 
by  assemblies  of  priests,  equal  among' themselves.  The  ex- 
ample of  these  various  constitutions  is  likewise  met  with  in 
history. 

In  fact,  in  the  Gaulish  church  of  the  fifth  century,  two  of 
those  principles  had  already  prevailed:  1st,  the  separation  of 
the  religious  society  and  the  ecclesiastical  society,  of  the 
clergy  and  the  people,  was  consummated  ;  the  clergy  alone 
governed  the  church — a  domination,  however,  palliated  by 
some  remains  of  the  intervention  of  the  faithful  in  tlie  election 
of  bishops.  2dly,  in  the  bosom  of  the  clergy,  the  aristocrat- 
ical  system  prevailed  ;  episcopacy  alone  dominated  j  a  domi- 
nation which  was  likewise  palliated,  on  one  hand  by  the 
intervention  of  the  simfile  priests  in  the  election  of  bishops, 
on  the  other  by  the  influence  of  councils,  a  source  of  liberty 
in  the  church,  although  none  but  bishops  sat  in  them. 

Such  were  tlie  dominant  facts,  the  characteristic  features 
of  the  Gaulish  church  at  the  time  of  the  invasion  :  what  did 
they  become  after  the  invasion  :  did  they  remain  or  disappear  ? 
to  what  modifications  were  they  subjected  from  the  sixth  to 
the  eighth  century  ?  These  are  the  questions  which  must 
occupy  us  at  present. 

I.  And,  first,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  but  that  the  separa- 
tion  of  the  clergy  and  the  people,  the  exclusive  domination  of 
the  ecclesiastics  over  the  laity,  was  kept  up.  Immediately 
after  the  invasion,  it  appeared  to  waver  for  a  moment ;  in  the 
common  peril,  the  clergy  and  the  people  were  brought  togotlier. 
This  fact  is  nowhere  positively  written  and  visible ;  but  it  is 
sfen  by  glimpses,  it  is  everywhere  felt:  in  going  over  the 
documents  of  this  epoch,  one  is  struck  with  I  know  not  what 
new  intimacy  between  the  priests  and  the  faithful ;  these  latter 
lived  iii  the  churches,  so  to  speak  :  on  numberless  occasions, 
the  bishops  met  tliem,  spoke  with  them,  consulted  tiicm  ;  the 
solemnity  of  the  times,  the  community  of  sentiments  and  des- 
tinies, a'jliged  the  government  to  establish  itself  in  the  midst 
of  the  population  ;  it  sustained  the  power  which  protected  it." 
In  sustaining  it,  it  took  part  therein. 

This  effect  was  of  short  duration.     You  will  recollect  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  861 

prineipal  cause  to  which  I  have  attributed  the  exclusive  domi. 
nation  of  the  clergy  over  the  people.  It  appeared  to  tno 
especially  to  result  fro»i  the  inferiority  of  the  people,  an  infe 
nority  of  intellect,  of  energy,  of  influence.  After  the  inva 
sion,  this  fact  did  not  alter,  it  was  rather  aggravated.  The 
miseries  of  the  time  made  the  Gaulish-Roman  population  fall 
Btill  lower.  Tlie  priests,  on  their  side,  when  once  the  con- 
querors were  converted,  no  longer  felt  the  same  want  of  close 
union  with  the  conquered  ;  the  people,  therefore,  lost  the 
rnomentary  importance  which  it  seemed  to  have  acquired. 
Tlie  barbarians  inherited  none  of  it;  they  were  in  no  way 
capable  of  associating  with  the  government  of  the  church'; 
they  had  not  the  least  wish  so  to  do  ;  and  kings  were  soon  the 
only  laymen  who  took  part  in  it. 

Many  facts,  however,  combated  this  isolation  of  the  eccle- 
siastical society  in  the  religious  society,  and  gave  influence  to 
the  laity  in  default  of  power. 

1st.  The  first,  which,  in  my  opinion,  has  been  oo  little 
marked,  and  which  has  had  enduring  and  important  con- 
sequences, was  the  separation  of  ordination  and  tonsure. 
Down  to  the  sixth  century,  the  tonsure  took  place  at  the  time 
of  entering  into  orders  ;  it  was  regarded  as  the  sign  of  ordi- 
nation, sfgnum  ordinis.  Dating  from  the  sixth  century,  wo 
find  the  tonsure  conferred  without  any  admission  into  orders  ; 
instead  of  being  signum  ordinis,  it  was  called  signum  dcslina- 
lionis  ad  ordiiiem.  The  principle  of  the  church  had  hitherto 
been,  lonsnra  ipsa  est  ordo,  "  tonsure  is  the  order  itself."  She 
maintained  this  principle,  with  this  ex-planation  : 

Tonsure  is  the  order  itself,  but  in  the  largest  sense  of  the 
term,  and  as  a  preparation  to  the  divine  service.  In  a  word, 
everything  attests  that,  from  that  time,  tonsure  and  ordina- 
tion  were  distinct ;  and  that  many  men  were  tonsured  with- 
out entering  into  orders  ;  became  clerks  without  becoming 
ecclesiastics.' 


M.  Plank  even  says  that  they  often  gave  the  tr  nsiire  to  children  ; 
tna  he  refers  to  the  6th  canon  of  the  10th  council  of  Toledo,  held  in 
6.jG,  which  forbids  its  being  conferred  before  the  age  of  ten  But 
there  is  son-«  confusion  in  this  this  canon  only  concerns  children 
•rouglu  up  in  monasteries,  ana  whom  the  tonsure  devoted  to  a  reii- 
^lons  liie.  This  fact  has  no  analogy  with  that  which  occupies  us,  and 
tothesuppor  of  which  M.  Plank  invokes  it.-Hist.  de  la  Constit  d< 
I  Eghse  Chretienne,  n.,  p   13,  not  8.     LabK   Cone,  t  vi  ,  cdI   483 


?58  HISTORY    OP 

They  wished  tj  participate  in  the  immunities  of  the 
church  ;  slie  received  them  into  her  ranks  in  the  same  way 
as  she  opened  her  temples  to  the  proscribed  ;  she  thercb) 
gained  an  extension  of  her  credit  and  her  forces.  But  the 
religious  society  gained  thereby,  in  its  turn,  a  means  of  action 
upon  the  ecclesiastical  society  ;  those  who  were  merely  Ion. 
sured  did  not  share  completely  either  the  interests  or  tho 
esprit-de  corps,  or  the  life  of  the  clergy,  properly  so  called  ; 
they  preserved,  to  a  certain  degree,  the  habits  and  feelings 
of  the  lay  population,  and  introduced  them  into  the  church. 
More  numerous  tnan  they  are  generally  supj)osed,  this  class 
of  men  has  f)layed  a  considerable  part  in  the  history  of  the 
middle  ages.  Bound  to  the  church  without  belonging  to  her, 
enjoying  her  privileges  without  falling  under  the  yoke  of  her 
interests  and  manners,  protected  and  not  enslaved,  it  was  in 
its  breast  that  that  spirit  of  liberty  was  developed  which  we 
shall  see  burst  forth  towards  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century, 
and  of  which  Abailard  was  then  the  most  illustrious  interpre- 
ter. From  the  eighth  century,  it  mitigated  that  separation 
of  the  clergy  and  the  people  which  was  the  dominant  cha- 
racteristic of  the  epoch,  and  prevented  it  from  bearing  all  its 
fruit. 

2dly.  A  second  fact  concurred  to  the  same  result.  From 
the  time  that  Christianity  became  powerful,  it  was,  as  you 
know,  a  frequent  custom  to  found  and  to  endow  churches. 
The  founder  enjoyed,  in  the  church  which  owed  its  origin  to 
him,  certain  privileges  which,  at  first,  were  purely  honorary ; 
they  inscribed  his  name  in  the  interior  of  the  church,  they 
prayed  for  him,  they  even  granted  him  some  influence  over 
the  choice  of  the  priests  charged  with  the  divine  offices.  It 
happened  that  bishops  wished  to  found  churches  beyond 
their  diocese,  whether  in  their  native  town,  in  the  midst  of 
some  domain,  or  from  some  other  motive.  Their  right  to 
choose  the  priest  called  to  perform  the  duties  was  unhesitat- 
ingly recognized  ;  many  councils  occupied  themselves  in 
regulating  the  exercise  of  this  right,  and  the  relations  of  the 
bishop  who  founded  the  church  with  the  bishop  in  the  diocese 
where  the  foundation  was  situated. 

••■  If  a  bishop,"  says  the  council  of  Orange,  "wishes  tu 
build  a  church  in  the  territory  of  a  city,  whether  for  the 
interest  of  his  domains,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Church,  or  for 
any  other  reason,  after  having  obtained  permission  for  this, 
which   cannot   be   denied    him    w-tbout   crime,   let    him    no; 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  250 

meddle  with  its  consecration,  wliich  is  absolutely  reserved  to 
tlie  bishop  of  the  see  where  the  new  church  is  situated. 
But  tliis  grace  shall  be  granted  to  the  bishop  who  founded  it, 
that  the  bishop  of  the  place  shall  ordain  wliatever  priests  the 
founder  may  desire  to  see  in  his  foundation  ;  or,  if  they  be 
already  ordained,  the  said  bishop  of  the  place  shall  accept 
them.'"  r  t  ,  I 

Tliis  ecclesiastical  patronage  soon  led  to  a  lay  patronage  of 
the  same  nature.  Foundations  by  the  laity  became  more  and 
more  frequent.  Their  conditions  and  forms  were  very 
various.  Sometimes  the  founder  reserved  a  portion  of  the 
revenues  with  which  he  endowed  his  church  ;  he  sometimes 
even  went  so  far  as  to  stipu.ate  that  he  should  enter  into  a 
participation  of  the  offerings  which  the  church  should  require 
in  addition  ;  so  that  men  founded  and  endowed  churches 
out  of  speculation,  to  run  the  chance  of  their  fortune,  and 
to  associate  themselves  in  their  future  prosperity.  The 
councils  took  measures  against  this  abuse,  but  they  recog- 
nized  and  consecrated  the  right  of  the  founders,  whether 
laymen  or  ecclesiastics,  to  influence  the  choice  of  the  ofTicial 
priests. 

"  Moved  by  a  pious  compassion,"  say  the  bishops  of  Spain, 
met  in  council  at  Toledo,  "  wc  have  decided  that  as  long  as 
the  founders  of  churches  shall  live  they  shall  be  permitted  to 
have  the  care  of  them,  and  they  must  especially  make  it  their 
business  to  present,  for  the  ordination  of  bishops,  worthy 
priests  for  these  churches  ;  if  they  do  not  propose  such,  then 
those  whom  the  bishop  of  the  place  shall  judge  pleasing  to 
God  shall  be  consecrated  to  his  worship,  and,  with  the  con- 
sent of  the  founders,  shall  officiate  in  their  church.  If, 
in  contempt  of  the  founders,  the  bishop  performs  an  ordina- 
tion, it  shall  be  null,  and  he  shall  be  constrained,  to  his 
shame,  to  ordain  for  the  place  suitable  persons  chosen  by  the 
founders."' 

By  this  means,  therefore,  the  laity  exercised  a  certain 
infltience  in  the  church,  and  took  some  part  ir  her  govern 
i.ient. 


•Council  of  Orange,  in  441,  c.  20. 

'  Ninth  council  of  Toledo,  held  in  655,  c.  2.     I  shall  often  cite  t!i« 
t«'pani9h  councils,  because   they  have  committed   to  writing  moie  tj 
|>licitly  and  mor»  clearly  facts  which  took  place  also  in  GauL 
37 


J460  HISTORY    OF 

3dly.  At  the  same  time,  and  in  proportion  as  the  social 
state  became  a  little  fixed,  the  custom  was  introduced  among 
the  great  proprietors  in  the  country,  and  even  in  the  towns, 
of  instituting  at  home,  in  the  interior  of  their  house,  an  ora- 
tory, a  chapel,  and  of  having  a  priest  to  officiate  in  it.  'Iliese 
chaplains  soon  became  the  object  of  lively  solicitude  on  the 
part  of  the  bishops.  They  were  j)laced  under  the  dcpevid- 
ence  of  their  lay  patron  far  more  than  under  that  of  the 
neighboring  bishops  ;  they  were  likely  to  participate  in  the 
feelings  of  the  house  where  they  lived,  and  separate  more  or 
less  from  the  church.  This  was,  besides,  a  means  for  the 
powerful  laity  to  procure  the  assistance  of  religion,  and  of 
fulfilling  its  duties  without  depending  wholly  on  the  bishop  of 
the  diocese.  We  accordingly  find  the  councils  of  this  epoch 
carefully  watching  this  non-embodied  clergy,  disseminated  in 
the  lay  society,  and  of  which  they  seemed  to  fear  sometimes 
the  serviture,  some^iimes  the  independence. 

"  If  any  one,"  orders  the  council  of  Agde,  "  wishes  to  have 
an  oratory  on  his  own  ground,  besides  the  parish  church,  we 
allow  that  in  ordinary  festivals  he  shall  there  cause  mass  to 
be  said  for  the  accommodation  of  his  own  people  ;  but 
Easter,  Christmas,  Epiphany,  Ascension,  Pentecost,  the  birth 
of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  all  the  other  days  which  should 
be  held  as  great  festivals,  must  only  be  celebrated  in  cer- 
tain  churches.  The  priests  who,  without  the  order  or 
permission  of  the  bishop,  shall,  on  the  above  enumerated  fes- 
tivals, say  or  hear  mass  in  oratories,  shall  be  excluded  from 
the  communion.'" 

"  If  rectories,"  says  the  council  of  Orleans,  "  are  established 
in  the  houses  of  powerful  men,  and  the  priests  who  officiate 
there,  warned  by  the  archdeacon  of  the  cily,  neglect,  in  favor 
of  the  power  of  the  master  of  tlie  house,  that  which,  according 
to  the  degree  of  their  order,  is  their  duty  in  tlie  house  of  the 
Lord,  let  them  be  corrected  according  to  ecclesiastical  dis- 
cipline.  And  if  by  the  agents  of  the  lords,  or  by  the  Ionia 
themselves,  the  said  priests  are  opposed  in  the  performance 
of  any  ecclesiastical  duty,  let  the  authors  of  such  iniquity 
be  removed  from  the  holy  ceremonies  until,  being  amended, 
iliey  shall  re-enter  into  the  peace  of  the  church."^ 

"  Many  of  oui'  brothers  and   bishops,"  says  likewise  thi 


Council  of  Agde,  in  506,  c    21.       »  Council  of  Orleans,  51],  c    2f 


CIVILIZATION    m    FRANCE.  ftCI 

2ouncil  of  Chalons,  "  have  complained  to  the  holy  convocation, 
;ipon  the  sul)joct  of  the  oratories,  long  since  constructed  in 
'he  country  houses  of  the  great  men  of  the  state.  Those  to 
n-hom  these  houses  belong,  dispute  with  the  bishops  property 
wiiich  has  been  given  to  these  oratories,  and  do  not  allow  that 
even  the  priests  who  officiate  in  them  are  under  the  juris 
diction  of  the  archdeacon  ;  it  is  important  that  this  should  be 
reformed  :  accordingly,  let  the  property  of  the  oratories,  and 
the  priests  who  officiate  in  them,  be  under  the  power  of  the 
bishop,  in  order  that  he  may  acquit  himself  of  what  is  due  to 
these  oratories  and  to  the  divine  service;  and  if  any  one 
oppose  himself  thereto,  let  him  be  excommunicated,  according 
to  the  tenor  of  the  ancient  canons.'" 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  the  bishops,  having  an  eye 
to  their  power,  looked  upon  this  domestic  clergy  with  so  much 
mistrust :  an  example  of  it  is  met  with  in  modern  times,  which 
shows  us  its  effects.  In  England,  under  the  reign  of  Charles  I., 
before  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolution,  during  the  struggle 
between  the  English  church  and  the  puritan  party,  the 
bishops  drove  from  their  cures  all  the  ecclesiastics  suspected 
of  puritan  opinions.  What  was  the  consequence  ? — the 
gentry,  the  great  proprietors,  who  shared  tliese  opinions,  took 
into  their  houses,  under  the  name  of  chaplains,  the  expelled 
ministers.  A  large  portion  of  the  clergy  who  were  suspected 
by  the  bishops,  accordingly,  placed  themselves  under  the 
patronage  of  the  lay  society,  and  there  exercised  an  influence 
formidable  to  the  official  clergy.  In  vain  the  English  church 
pursued  her  adversaries,  even  into  the  interior  of  families; 
when  tyranny  is  forced  to  penetrate  so  deep,  it  soon  becomes 
enervated,  or  hastens  towards  its  ruin  :  the  inferior  nobility, 
die  high  bourgeoisie  of  England,  defended  their  chaplains 
with  the  most  persevering  energy  ;  the)'-  concealed  them,  they 
changed  them  from  house  to  house;  they  eluded  or  they  braved 
the  episcopal  anathemas.  The  bishops  might  manoeuvre, 
oppress  ;  they  were  no  longer  the  only,  the  necessary  clergy  ; 
the  population  harbored  in  its  breast  a  clergy  foreign  to  the 
■egal  church,  and  more  and  more  at  enmity  with  it.  From 
the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century,  the  danger  was  not  the  same  ; 
.he  bishops  had  to  fear  neither  schism  nor  insurrection.  Stil 
the  institution  of  the  chaplains  had  an  analogous   effect :  i( 


Council  of  Chaiong,  in  050,  c.  14. 


262  HrsTonv  of 

tended  to  form  un  inferior  clergy,  less  closely  unlled  lo  thf 
body  of  the  church,  nearer  to  the  laity,  more  disposed  to 
share  their  manners,  in  fine,  to  make  common  cause  with  the 
age  and  the  people.  Accordingly,  they  did  not  cease  atten- 
tivel}  to  overlook  and  curb  the  chaplains.  Tliey,  however, 
by  no  means  destroyed  them  ;  they  dared  not  attempt  it :  the 
development  of  the  feudal  system  even  gave  to  this  institution 
a  fixity  wliich  at  first  was  wanting  to  it :  and  tliis  was  also 
one  of  the  ways  by  which  the  laity  regained  that  influence  in 
the  government  of  tlie  religious  society,  which  its  legal  and 
nternal  constitution  refused  to  it. 

4thly.  The  bishops  themselves  were  constrained  lo  Dpen 
another  way  to  it.  The  administration  of  the  temporal 
aflfairs  and  property  of  the  church  was  often  a  source  of 
embarrassment  and  danger  to  them ;  they  had  not  only  differ- 
ences to  decide,  and  suits  to  maintain,  but,  in  the  fearful  dis- 
order of  the  time,  the  property  of  the  church  was  exposed  to 
continual  devastations,  engaged  and  compromised  in  numerous 
quarrels,  in  private  wars ;  and  when  it  was  necessary  to 
make  a  defence,  when  the  church,  in  behalf  of  her  domains 
or  her  rights,  had  some  robbery  to  repel,  some  legal  proof, 
perhaps  even,  in  some  cases,  a  judicial  combat  to  maintain, 
pious  menaces,  exhortations,  excommunications  even  did 
not  always  suffice  ;  she  wanted  temporal  and  worldly  arms. 
In  order  to  procure  them,  she  had  recourse  to  an  expedient. 
For  some  time  past  certain  churches,  especially  in  Africa,  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  selecting  defenders  who,  under  the  name  of 
causidici,  tutores,  vice-domini,  were  charged  with  the  duty  of 
appearing  for  them  before  justice,  and  of  protecting  them  ad- 
versus  pote.ntias  d'witum.  An  analogous  necessity,  and  one  far 
more  pressing,  led  the  churches  of  Frankish-Gaul  to  seek 
among  their  neighboring  laity  a  portion  who,  under  the  name 
of  advocatus,  took  their  cause  in  hand  and  became  their  man, 
not  only  in  judicial  disputes,  where  they  had  need  of  him, 
but  against  any  robberies  which  might  threaten  them.  From 
the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century,  the  advocates  of  the  church 
dil  not  yet  appear  with  the  development  nor  under  tne 
forms  which  they  received  at  a  later  period,  in  the  feudal 
system  ;  we  do  not  as  yet  distinguish  the  advocati  sagali, 
or  armed,  from  the  advocati  togati,  charged  merely  with  civil 
iffairs.  But  the  institution  was  not  the  loss  real  and  effica. 
sious  ;  we  find  numerous  churches  choosing  advocates  ;  they 
were  careful  to  take  powerful   and  brave  men  ;  kings  some. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  208 

dmes  gavo  them  to  churches  who  as  yet  had  no  advocates^ 
and  the  laity  were  thus  called  in  to  participate  in  the  temporal 
ndminisfration  of  the  church,  and  to  exercise  an  important 
influence  over  her  aflairs. 

It  was  generally  hy  granting  them  certain  privileges,  espe- 
cially in  giving  them  the  usufruct  of  some  domain,  that  the 
churches  thus  solicited  the  support,  and  paid  the  services  of 
some  powerful  neighbor. 

We  may  already  see,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  four 
doors  opened  to  religious  society  to  enter  the  ecclesiastical 
society,  and  there  exercise  some  power  ;  the  separation  of  ordi- 
nation and  tonsure,  that  is  to  say,  the  introduction  into  the 
church  of  many  clerks  who  were  not  ecclesiastics;  the  rights 
attached  to  the  foundation  and  to  the  patronage  of  churches  ; 
the  institution  of  private  oratories ;  and  lastly,  the  interven 
tion  of  advocates  in  the  administration  of  the  temporal  inte- 
rests of  the  church  ;  such  were  the  principal  causes  which,  at 
the  epoch  which  occupies  us,  combated  the  exclusive  domina- 
tion of  ecclesiastical  society  over  religious  society,  and 
veakened  or  retarded  its  cfiects.  I  might  point  out  many 
otlicrs  wliich  1  omit,  because  they  are  less  general  and  less 
evident.  A  priori,  such  a  fact  was  easy  to  presume  :  this 
separation  of  the  governing  and  the  governed  could  not  be  so 
absolute  as  the  oflicial  institutions  of  the  church  at  this  epoch 
would  lead  us  to  suppose.  If  it  had  been  so,  if  the  body 
of  the  faithful  had  been  strangers  to  the  body  of  priests  to 
such  a  degree,  and  deprived  of  all  influence  over  its  govern 
ment,  the  government,  in  its  turn,  would  have  soon  found 
itself  a  stranger  to  its  people,  and  deprived  of  all  power.  It 
must  not  be  supposed  that  servitude  is  complete  wherever 
the  forms  or  even  t1ie  principles  of  tyranny  are  found.  Pro- 
vidence does  not  permit  evil  to  be  developed  in  all  the  rigor 
of  its  consequences;  and  human  nature,  often  so  weak,  so 
easily  vanquished  by  whomsoever  wishes  to  oppress  it,  has 
yet  infinite  ability  and  a  wonderful  power  for  escaping  from 
the  yoke  which  it  seems  to  accept.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
but  that,  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century,  the  religious 
society  bore  that  of  the  ecclesiastical  society,  and  that  the 
separation  of  the  clergy  and  the  people,  already  a  source  of 
much  evil,  one  day  was  to  cost  both  of  them  deaily ;  but  it 
was  much  less  complete  than  it  appeared  ;  it  only  took  place 
with  a  crowd  of  restrictions  and  modifications  which  alone 
rendered  i*  possible,  and  alone  can  explain  them. 


264  HISTORY   OF 

11.  Let  us  now  enter  into  the  bosom  of  ecclesiastical  societ) 
Itself",  and  let  us  see  what  became  of  its  internal  organization 
from  the  fifth  to  the  eighth  century,  especially  of  that  prepon- 
derance  of  the  episcopacy  whicli  in  the  fifth  century  was  its 
doujinant  characteristic. 

The  organization  of  the  clergy  at  this  epoch  was  complele,, 
and  almost  the  same,  at  least  in  its  essential  forms,  as  it  has 
remained  up  to  modern  times.  I  can  therefore  place  it  before 
you  in  its  ensemble  ;  you  will  so  better  follow  the  variations. 

The  clergy  comprehended  two  orders,  the  minor  orders  and 
the  major  orders.  Tiie  first  were  four  in  number  :  the  aco- 
lytes, the  porters,  the  exorcists,  and  the  readers.  They  called 
major  orders,  the  under-deacons,  the  deacons,  and  the  priests. 
The  inequality  was  great ;  the  four  minor  orders  were  pre- 
served scarcely  more  than  in  name,  and  out  of  respect  for 
ancient  traditions  \  although  they  were  reckoned  as  clergy, 
they  did  not,  truly  speaking,  form  a  part  of  it ;  they  had  not 
inlposed  upon  them,  they  were  not  even  recommended  to 
celibacy  :  they  were  looked  upon  rather  as  servants  than 
as  members  of  the  clergy.  When,  tiierefore,  the  clergy  and 
tlie  ecclesiastical  government  of  this  epoch  is  spoken  of,  it  is 
only  the  major  orders  that  are  meant. 

Even  in  the  major  orders  the  influence  of  the  first  two 
named,  the  under-deacons  and  deacons,  was  weak  ;  the  dea- 
cons were  occupied  rather  in  administering  the  property  of  tlie 
church,  and  the  distribution  of  her  alms,  than  in  religious 
government  properly  so  called.  It  is  to  the  order  of  priests, 
truly  speaking,  that  this  government  was  confined  \  neither 
the  minor  orders,  nor  the  two  others  of  the  major  orders,  really 
participated  in  it. 

The  body  of  priests  were  subject,  in  the  first  six  centuries, 
to  numerous  and  important  vicissitudes.  The  bishop,  in  my 
opinion,  ought  to  be  considered  as  its  primitive  and  fundamen- 
tal element ;  not  that  the  same  functions,  tl»e  same  rights, 
have  always  been  indicated  by  this  word  ;  the  episcopacy  of 
the  second  century  greatly  differed  from  that  of  the  fourth  ;  it 
is  no  less  the  starting  point  of  ecclesiastical  organization.  The 
bishop  was,  originally,  the  inspector,  the  chief  of  the  religioua 
congregation  of  each  town.  The  Christian  church  took  birth 
in  towns ;  the  bishops  were  its  first  magistrates. 

Wlien  Christianity  spread  into  the  rural  districts,  the  ni'i- 
.licipal  bishop  no  longer  sufficed.  Then  appeared  the  chore. 
|jiccopi,   or  rural  bishops,   moving,  ambulatory  bishops,  cpw 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE  265 

:(7})i  vagi,  considered,  sometimes  as  tiic  delegates,  sometimes 
as  tlic  equals,  the  rivals  even  of  the  metropolitan  hishops,  and 
whom  the  latter  attempted  at  first  to  sultjcct  to  their  power, 
and  afterwards  to  abolish. 

They  succeeded  therein :  tiie  rural  districts  once  Christian, 
the  chorepiscopi  in  their  turn  no  longer  sufficed  :  something 
more  fixed,  more  regular,  was  necessary  :  sometliing  less  con- 
tested by  the  most  influential  magistrates  of  the  church,  that 
IS  to  say,  the  metropolitan  bishops.  Then  parishes  were 
formed  ;  each  Cliristian  agglomeration  at  all  considerable  be- 
ame  a  parish,  and  had  a  priest  for  its  religious  head,  natur- 
ally subordinate  to  the  bishop  of  the  neighboring  town,  from 
whom  I.e  received  and  held  all  his  powers ;  for  it  seems  thai 
originally  parish  priests  acted  absolutely  only  as  representa- 
tives, as  delegates  of  the  bishops,  and  not  in  virtue  of  their 
own  right. 

The  union  of  all  the  agglomerated  parishes  around  a  town, 
in  a  circumscription  for  a  long  time  vague  and  variable, 
formed  the  diocese. 

After  a  certain  time,  and  in  order  to  bring  more  regularity 
and  completeness  into  the  relations  of  the  diocesan  clergy, 
they  formed  a  small  association  of  many  parishes  under  the 
name  of  the  rural  chapter,  and  at  the  head  of  the  rural  chap- 
ter was  placed  an  archpriest.  At  a  later  period  many  rural 
chapters  were  united  in  a  new  circumscription  under  the 
name  of  district,  which  was  directed  by  an  archdeacon.  This 
last  institution  had  scarcely  arisen  at  the  epoch  of  which  we 
treat :  it  is  true  that  long  before  we  find  archdeacons  in  the 
dioceses  ;  but  there  was  but  one,  and  he  did  not  preside  ovci 
a  territorial  circumscription  ;  established  in  an  episcopal  town, 
in  the  same  town  with  the  bishop,  he  took  his  place,  some- 
times in  the  exercise  of  his  jurisdiction,  sometimes  in  the 
visitation  of  the  diocese.  It  was  only  at  the  end  of  the 
seventh,  or,  at  least,  at  the  commencement  of  the  eighth  cen- 
tury, that  we  see  many  archdeacons  in  the  same  diocese,  re- 
siding at  a  distance  from  the  bishop,  and  each  placed  at  the 
head  of  a  district.  We  still  encounter  at  this  epoch,  in 
prankish  Gaul,  some  chorepiscopi  ;  but  the  name  and  charge 
were  not  long  in  disappearing. 

The  diocesan  organization  was  then  complete  and  defini. 
live.  The  bishop,  as  you  see,  had  been  its  source,  as  be  re- 
mained its  centre.     He   was   much   changed   himseJf,   but  i 


266  HISTORY   OF 

was  around   him,  and  under  his  influence,   thai  ahnosl   all 
other  changes  were  brought  about. 

All  the  dioceses  in  the  civil  province  formed  the  eccleaius. 
tical  province,  under  the  direction  of  the  metropolitan  or  arch- 
bishop.  The  quality  of  the  archbishop  was  but  the  expres- 
sion  of  this  fact.  The  civil  metropolis  was  generally  more 
wealthy,  more  populous  than  the  other  towns  of  the  province ; 
its  bishop  had  more  influence  ;  people  met  around  him  on  all 
important  occasions ;  his  residence  became  the  chief  place  of 
the  provincial  council ;  he  convoked  it,  and  was  the  president 
of  it;  he  was  moreover  charged  with  the  confirmation  and 
consecration  of  the  newly  elected  bishops  of  the  province ; 
with  receiving  accusations  brought  against  bishops,  and  the 
appeals  from  their  decisions,  and  with  carrying  them,  after 
having  made  a  first  examination,  to  the  provincial  council, 
which  alone  had  the  right  of  judging  them.  The  archbishops 
unceasingly  attempted  to  usurp  tliis  right,  and  make  a  per- 
sonal  power  of  it.  They  often  succeeded  ;  but,  in  truth,  as  to 
all  important  circumstances,  it  was  to  the  proviiicial  council 
that  it  appertained  ;  the  archbishops  were  only  charged  with 
superintending  the  execution  of  it. 

In  some  states  finally,  especially  in  the  east,  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  church  extended  beyond  tiie  archbishops.  As  they 
had  constituted  parishes  into  the  diocese,  and  the  dioceses 
into  the  province,  they  undertook  to  constitute  provinces  into 
national  churches,  under  the  direction  of  a  patriarch.  The 
undertaking  succeeded  in  Syria,  in  Palestine,  in  Egypt,  in  the 
Eastern  Empire ;  there  was  a  patriarch  at  Antioch,  at  Jeru- 
salem,  at  Constantinople  ;  he  was,  with  regard  to  archbishops, 
what  archbishops  were  to  bishops ;  and  the  ecclesiastical  or- 
ganization corresponded  in  all  degrees  of  the  hierarchy  with 
the  political  organization. 

The  same  attempt  took  place  in  the  west,  not  only  on  the 
part  of  the  bishops  of  Rome,  who  labored  at  an  early  period 
to  become  the  patriarchs  of  the  whole  west,  but  independently 
of  their  pretensions,  and  even  against  them.  There  are 
Bcarcely  any  of  the  states  formed  after  the  invasion,  which 
did  not  attempt,  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century,  to  be. 
come  a  national  church,  and  to  have  a  patriarch.  In  Spain, 
tlje  archbishop  of  Toledo;  in  England,  the  archbishop  of  Can 
lerbury  ;  in  Frankish  Gaul,  the  archbishop  of  Aries,  of  Vl 
enne,  of  Lyons,  of  Bourgcs,  bore  the  title  of  primate  or  patii 
arch  of  Gaul,  of  Great  IJritain,  of  Spain,  and  attempted  to  ex 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  267 

erciso  all  its  rights.  But  the  attempt  everywhere  failed  :  the 
western  states  had  scarcely  taken  rise ;  their  limits,  thei' 
government,  their  very  existence  were  incessantly  in  ques- 
tion. Gaul,  particularly,  was  divided  between  many  nations, 
and,  in  the  heart  of  each  nation,  between  the  sons  of  the 
kings;  the  bishops  of  a  kingdom  were  unwilling  to  acknow- 
ledge  the  authority  of  a  tbreign  primate ;  the  civil  govern- 
ment  was  equally  opposed  to  it.  Besides,  the  bishop  ol'Rome, 
already  in  possession  of  great  influence,  even  where  his  offi- 
cial supremacy  was  not  acknowledged,  warmly  contested  the 
establishment  of  the  patriarchs  ;  in  Gaul,  the  principle  upon 
which  he  acted  was  constantly  to  transfer  the  primacy  from 
one  metropolitan  to  another,  so  as  to  prevent  its  remaining  too 
.ong  attached  to  one  particular  sec ;  at  one  time  'le  favored 
the  pretensions  to  the  primacy  of  the  metropolitan  of  Vienne, 
then  those  of  the  bishop  of  Aries  ;  at  another  time  ihose  of  the 
bishop  of  Lyons  ;  and  then  again  those  of  the  bishop  of  Sens  ; 
so  as,  by  this  constant  fluctuation  and  uncertainty  in  the  reli- 
gious and  civil  order,  to  prevent  the  institution  from  attaining 
force  or  fixity. 

The  same  causes  which  operated  against  this  particular  in- 
stitution, extended  their  influence  beyond  it ;  in  the  same  way 
that  they  had  prevented  the  system  of  the  patriarchate  from 
taking  root,  they  weakened  and  finally  broke  down  the  archi- 
episcopal  system.  From  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century,  the 
metropolitan  bishops  fell  from  time  to  time  lower  and  lower  ; 
so  that,  at  the  accession  of  the  Carlovingians,  they  could 
hardly  be  said  to  exist  at  all.  The  circumstance  alone  of  the 
parcelling  out  of  Gaul  into  different  states,  was  calculated  to 
be  of  fatal  consequence  to  them.  The  circumscription  of  the 
religious  society  no  longer  agreed  with  that  of  the  civil 
society.  Within  the  province  of  the  archbishop  of  Lyons, 
for  instance,  there  were  bishops  subject  to  the  kingdom  of 
the  Visigoths,  and  to  the  kingdom  of  the  Franks,  and 
who,  on  all  occasions,  eagerly  availed  themselves  of  this 
pretext  for  evading  their  spiritual  superior's  authority, 
quite  certain  of  being  supported  by  the  temporal  sovereign. 
Moreover,  as  you  have  seen,  the  preponderance  of  the  metropo- 
litans was  based  upon  that  of  the  town  in  which  they  respec- 
tively resided,  and  upon  its  former  quality  as  a  metropolis. 
Now,  in  the  general  disorder  occasioned  by  the  invasion,  con. 
siderable  changes  took  place  in  the  relative  importance  of 
towns  ;  rich,  important  cities,  metropoles,  truly  so  called,  bo- 
came    poor    and    depopulated.      Others,    on    whom    fortuno 


rao  HISTORY    OF 

smiled  more  favorably,  acquired  a  wealth  and  population  pre 
viously  unknown  to  them.  With  the  disappearance  from  o 
city  of  its  importance,  disappeared  the  cause  which  had  ren- 
dered its  bishop  a  metropolitan,  and  the  word  metropolitan 
became,  by  degrees,  a  falsehood,  a  circumstance  highly  dan- 
gerous to  the  power  which  it  outwardly  expressed.  Besides, 
it  was  in  the  very  nature  of  the  institution  to  be  assailed  at 
once,  on  tiie  one  hand,  by  the  bishops,  wiio  were  not  desirous 
of  having  a  spiritual  superior ;  on  the  other  by  the  bishop  of 
Home,  who  naturally  wished  to  have  no  rivals  ;  the  result 
was  what  might  have  been  expected.  The  bishops  preferring, 
as  their  general  metropolitan,  the  bisi.op  of  Rome,  who  lived 
at  a  distance,  and  took  care  to  conciliate  them,  not  having 
them  as  yet  within  his  power,  adopted  the  course  of  support- 
ing the  bishop  of  Rome  against  their  more  inmiediate  metropo- 
litans. Thus  attacked  on  both  sides,  the  metropolitans  daily 
declined  in  influence  and  power;  the  bishops  ceased  to  pay 
any  attention  to  their  mandates,  or  even  to  thei."  exhortations ; 
the  body  of  the  church  to  have  recourse  in  any  way  to  their 
intervention;  and  when,  in  744,  Pepin-le-Bref consulted  pope 
Zachary  on  the  best  means  of  restoring  order  to  the  confused 
and  agitated  church,  one  of  his  first  questions  was,  what 
course  he  should  adopt  for  procuring  respect  for  the  metropo- 
litans at  the  hands  of  the  bishops  and  parochial  priests. 

In  point  of  fact,  the  whole  government  of  the  church,  at 
this  period,  was  in  the  hands  of  the  bishops  and  of  the  priests  : 
they  were  the  only  members  of  it  who  were  at  all  active  and 
powerful.  What  were  tlieir  mutual  relations?  how  was 
power  divided  between  them  ? 

The  general  manifest  fact  was,  the  exclusive  domination 
and,  we  may  say,  despotism  of  the  bishops.  Let  us  seek 
closely  for  the  causes  of  this  :  it  is  the  best  means  of  properly 
understanding  the  situation  of  the  church 

1.  And  first,  the  fall  of  the  metropolitans  left  the  bishops 
without  superiors,  or  very  nearly  so.  With  the  head  of  the 
ecclesiastical  province  declined  the  provincial  synod,  which  i; 
was  his  privilege  to  assemble  and  preside  over.  These  synods, 
licretofore  the  unquestionable  superiors  of  the  bishops,  to 
which  appeals  were  carried  from  the  decisions  of  the  bishops, 
and  which  took  cognizance  of  all  the  causes  which  the  bishops 
could  not  of  themselves  decide,  became  rare  and  inactive.  In 
the  course  of  the  sixth  century,  there  were  held  in  Gaul  fifty 
four  councils  of  e^ory  description ;  iu  *he  seventh  century 


CIVILIZATION     IN    FRANCK. 


aoo 


Dnijr  twenty ;  in  the  first  half  of  the  eighth  century  only 
seven,  and  five  of  these  were  held  in  Belgium,  or  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine. 


Table  of  the  Gaulish  Councils  of  the  Sixth  Century. 


Date 

506 

507 
511 
515 
516 
517 
517 
517 
524 
527 
529 
529 
529 
530 
533 
535 
538 
540 
541 
545 
519 

510 
5.')0 
550 
554 

555 

555 

557 

563 

567 

567    ' 

573 

575 

571 

578 


5  79 
579 


Place. 
Agde . . 

Toiilonso 

Orlc:xnp 

St.  Maurice. . . . 

Lyons 

I'iace  uncertain. 

Kj)aonensc 

Lyons 

Aries 

Carpentras 

Orange  

Valencia. 

Vaison 

Angers 

Orleans 

Clermont 

Orleans 

Orleans 

Orleans 

Aries. 

Orleans 

Aries 

Toul. 
Met/,. 
Aries 

Place    uncertain 
Brittany. 

Paris 

Paris 

Saintes 

Lyons  

Tours 

Paris ., 

Lyons. 

Paris. 

Auxerre 


Chalons. 
Saintes. 


Present. 

25  bishops,  8  priests,  2  deacons,  re- 
presenting their  Ijishops 

32  bishops 

4  bishops,  8  counta. 

16  bishops. 

25  bishops. 
11  bishops. 

14  bishops,  4  priest. 
19  bishops. 

14  bishops,  8  viri  illustres. 

11  or  12  bishops. 

5  bishops. 

26  bishops,  5  priests. 

15  bishops. 

19  bishops,  7  priests, 

38  bishops,  11  priests,  1  abbot. 

5  bishops,  21  priests,  archdeacons, 

or  abbots 
10  bishops. 


11   bishops,  8  priests,  deacons,  or 
archdeacons. 


27  bishops. 
16  bishops, 

8  bishops,  5  priests,  1  deacon. 
7  bishops. 
32  bishops,  1  priest. 


The  bishop  of  Auxerre,  7  abbots,  34 
priests,  3  deacons,  all  of  the  dio- 
cese of  Auxerre. 


no 


HISTOKY    OF 


Tabu  of  the  Gaulish  Councils  of  the  Sixth  Century— continued. 


Bate. 

Place. 

Present. 

580 

Braines. 

581 

Lyons. 

581 
583 

Macon.  ...a. 

21  bishops. 
8  bishops,  12  delegates  of  bishops 

Lyons 

584 

Valencia. 

535 

Macon 

43  bishops,  15  delegates,  16  bishcps 
without  sees 

587 

Andelot. 

588 

Clermont. 

588 

Place  uncertain 

589 

Sourcy,  near  Soi^ons. 

5s9 

Chalons. 

589 
590 

Narbonne 

7  bitnops. 

Upon  the  confines  of 

Auvergne.of  Rouer- 

gue,  ami  of  Givau- 

dan. 

590 

Poictiers. 

6  bishops 

590 

Metz. 

591 

Nanterre. 

594 

Chalons. 

Table  of  the  Councils  of  Gaul  in  the  Seventh  Century. 


Date. 

603 

615 

shortly 

afterwards 

625 

627 

628 

633 

638 

648 
650  or  645 

650 

658 

664 

669 

670 

670 

679 
e84  or  685 

638 
'jga  or  682 


Place. 

Chalons. 
Paris. 

Place  uncertain 

Rheims 

Macon. 

Clichy 

Clichy 

Paris 

Hourges. 
Orleans. 

Chalons , 

Nantes. 

Paris 

Clichy 

Sens 

Autun. 

Place  uncertain 

In  the  palaco  of  the 

king. 
Ibid. 
Rouen 


Present. 


41  bishops. 

Bishops  and  high  laymen. 
15  bishops,  Dagobert,  great  men. 
9  bisiiops,  Dagobert,  great  m(;ii. 


38  bishops,  5  abbots,  1  archdeacon 

25  bisiiops. 

Bishops  and  great  men. 

30  bishops. 


16  bishops,  4  abbots,  1  legate,  3j 
avchdeacona,  many  priests  anili 
deacons.  i 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  271 

Table  of\he  Councih  of  Gaul  in  the  first  half  of  the  Eighth  Century 


Date. 

Place 

Present. 

729 

Maestncht. 

742 

In  Germany 

743 
744 

Sepfines. 

23  bishops,  many  priests  and 
laymen. 

high 

746 
74S 

In  Germany 
Ibid. 

752 

Vermeric. 

Thus  gradual!}  freed  from  individual  superiors,  and  from 
assemblies  of  their  equals,  the  bishops  found  themselves  in  an 
almost  entirely  independent  position.  There  was  a  change, 
too,  in  the  system  of  episcopal  elections.  You  have  seen  that 
the  election  by  the  clergy  and  the  people,  although  still  legal 
and  of  frequent  occurrence  at  the  epoch  which  occupies  us, 
was  still  far  more  uncertain  and  far  less  real.  A  foreign 
force,  royalty,  constantly  interfered  therein,  in  order  to  bring 
trouble  and  impotence  into  it :  kings  unceasingly  directly 
nominated  bishops,  despite  the  continual  protestations  of  the 
church,  and,  in  all  cases,  the  elected  required  their  confirma- 
tion. The  ties  which  united  the  bishops  to  their  priests  be- 
came accordingly  very  n.uch  weakened  ;  it  was  almost  solely 
by  election  that  the  clergy  influenced  the  episcopacy,  and  this 
influence,  if  it  was  not  destroyed,  was  at  least  enervated  and 
disputed. 

2dly.  There  resulted  from  this  another  circumstance 
which  still  more  separated  the  bishops  from  their  priests  : 
when  the  clergy  elected  them,  it  took  them  from  its  own 
bosom  ;  it  selected  men  already  known  and  accredited  in  the 
diocese.  When,  on  the  contrary,  a  crowd  of  bishops  received 
their  title  from  kings,  the  greater  part  arrived  strangers,  un- 
known, alike  without  credit  and  without  affection  among  the 
clergy  whom  they  had  to  govern.  Taken  even  in  the  diocese, 
.hey  were  there  often  destitute  of  consideration  ;  intriguers 
who  had  succeeded,  by  disgraceful  means,  or  even  by  money, 
in  obtaining  the  royal  preference.  Thus  were  still  farther 
broken  the  ties  wliich  united  the  bishops  to  the  clergy  ;  thua 
the  episcopal  power,  which  no  longer  possessed  any  superior 
power,  was  alike  released  from  the  influence  of  its  people  j  as 


272  HISTORY    OF 

the  clergy  was  separated  from  the  lay  population,  so  was  Un 
episcopacy  separated  from  the  clergy. 

3dly.  This  is  not  all :  the  clergy  itself  declined  ;  not  only 
did  it  lose  its  power,  but  its  position,  and,  so  to  speak,  its 
quality  was  diminislied.  You  have  seen  that,  at  this  epoch, 
a  great  number  of  slaves  entered  into  the  church,  and  by 
what  causes.  The  bishops  soon  perceived  that  a  clergy  thus 
formed  was  without  principle,  without  power,  far  more  easy 
to  govern  and  to  conquer,  if  it  attempt  to  resist.  In  many 
dioceses  they  took  care  to  recruit  it  from  the  same  source,  to 
aid  themselves  the  natural  course  of  things;  this  origin  of  a 
crowd  of  priests  long  contributed  to  the  sovereignty  of  the 
episcopacy. 

4liily.  Here  we  have  a  fourth  cause,  even  more  powerful 
and  extensive.  The  bishops  were  the  sole  administrators  of 
the  property  of  the  church.  This  property  was  of  two  kinds  : 
on  one  side,  foundation  property,  every  day  more  considera- 
ble, for  it  was  under  this  form  that  tlie  greater  part  of  dona- 
tions to  churches  were  made  ;  on  tlic  other,  the  offerings  of 
the  faithful  in  the  churclies  themselves.  I  shall  say  a  word, 
in  passing,  of  a  third  kind  of  ecclesiastical  revenue,  which  at 
d  later  period  played  an  important  part,  but  wiiich,  at  the 
seventh  century,  was  not  yet  well  established ;  I  mean  the 
tithe.  From  the  earliest  ages,  the  clergy  made  continual 
efforts  to  bring  back  or  to  generalise  this  Hebrew  institution  ; 
it  preached  it,  it  praised  it ;  it  recalled  the  Jewish  traditions 
and  manners.  Two  Gaulish  councils  of  the  sixth  century, 
that  of  Tours,  in  567,  and  that  of  Macon,  in  585,  made  it  the 
subject  of  formal  provisions.  But  they  felt,  by  their  very 
tone,  that  these  dispositions  were  rather  exliortations  than 
laws:  "We  urgently  caution  you,"  writes  the  council  of 
Tours  to  the  faithful,  "  that,  following  the  examples  of  Abra- 
ham, you  do  not  fai'  to  offer  to  God  the  tentli  of  all  your  pro- 
perty, to  the  end  that  you  may  presei  ve  the  res'i ;'"  and  these 
exhortations  were  of  but  little  eflect. 

It  was  at  a  later  period,  and  only  under  the  Carlovingians, 
that,  with  the  aid  of  the  civil  power,  the  clergy  attained  its 
end,  and  rendered  the  tithe  general  and  regular.  At  tlit 
epoch  of  which  we  treat,  the  foundation  property  and  tht 
offerings  were  her  only  reven  les.     Now  it  must  not  be  sup 


1  Labbe,  vol.  v.,  col.  868. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  278 

posed  that  these  revenues  belonged  to  a  particular  church  or 
parish,  where  the  source  of  them  lay  :  the  produce  of  all  the 
adjacent  domains,  of  all  ofTerings  received  in  the  dioceae, 
formed  a  mass  of  which  the  bishop  alone  had  the  disposition  : 

*'  Let  the  domains,  estates,  vineyards,  slaves,  the  pcculium, 
.  .  ,  .  which  are  given  to  parishes,"  says  the  council  of  Or- 
leans, "remain  in  the  power  of  the  bishop.'"  Charged  with 
the  cost  of  dispensing  worship  and  the  maintenance  of  the 
oricsts,  in  the  whole  diocese,  it  was  the  bishop  who  determined 
Jie  part  allotted  to  each  parish.  Certain  rules,  it  is  true. 
»vere  soon  established  with  regard  to  this  matter  :  three  parts 
were  usually  made  of  the  revenues  of  a  parish  ;  one  third 
was  apj)roj)riatc(I  to  the  priest  who  performed  its  duties ; 
another  to  the  expense  of  worship  ;  and  a  third  returned  to  the 
bishop.  But  in  sjiite  of  this  legal  injunction,  often  repeated 
by  the  canons,  the  centralization  of  the  ecclesiastical  reve- 
nues continued  :.  the  general  administration  belonged  to  the 
bishop,  and  it  was  easy  to  foresee  the  extension  of  this  means 
of  power. 

5th.  He  disposed  of  persons  almost  as  of  things,  and  the 
.iberty  of  the  parish  priests  was  scarcely  better  guaranteed 
than  their  revenue.  The  principle  of  the  servitude  of  the 
glebe,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  was  introduced  into  the 
church:  we  read  in  the  acts  of  the  councils: 

"  It  is  said,  in  the  law  concerning  the  laborers  of  the  field, 
that  each  must  remain  wherever  he  began  to  live.  The 
canons  liiccwise  order,  that  the  priests  who  work  for  the 
church  remain  where  they  coinmenced.'" 

"  Let  no  bishop  raise  in  degree  a  strange  priest."^ 

"  Let  no  one  ordain  a  priest  who  docs  not  first  promise  to 
remain  where  he  shall  be  placed.'" 

Never  was  power  over  persons  more  expressly  established. 

6th.  The  progress  of  the  political  importance  of  the  bishops 
turned  equally  to  the  profit  of  their  religious  domination. 
They  entered  into  the  national  assemblies ;  they  surrounded 
and  counselled  kings.  How  could  the  poor  priests  struggle 
with  any  advantage  against  such  superiors?  Besides,  such 
i\'as  the  disorder  of  the  times,  and  both  the  difficulty  and  the 


•  Council  of  Orleans,  in  611,  c.  14,  15. 

•  Council  of  Seville,  in  619,  c.  3.    »  Council  o*"  Angerg,  in  453,  C.  9 

•  Council  of  Valencia,  in  524,  c.  6. 


i74  HISTORY    OF 

necessity  of  maintaining  some  general  tie,  some  unity  in  l\\( 
administration  of  the  church,  that  the  course  of  things  agrti'- 
ing  with  the  passions  of  men,  tended  to  strengthen  the  central 
power.  The  despotism  of  the  episcopal  aristocracy  prevailed 
by  the  same  causes  which  caused  that  of  the  feudal  aristo. 
cracy  to  prevail  ;  this  was,  perhaps,  at  this  epoch,  the  com- 
inon  and  dominant  want,  the  only  means  of  maintaining 
society. 

But  it  redounds  to  the  honor  and  safety  of  human  nature, 
that  an  evil,  although  inevitable,  is  never  accomplished  with- 
out resistance,  and  that  liberty,  incessantly  protesting  and 
struggling  against  necessity,  prepares  the  enfranchisement, 
even  at  the  moznent  that  it  submits  to  the  yoke.  The  bishops 
strangely  abused  their  immense  power  :  the  priests,  and  the 
revenues  of  their  diocese,  were  the  prey  to  violences  and 
exactions  of  all  kinds  ;  the  acts  of  tlie  councils,  composed  of 
bishops  only,  are,  in  this  respect,  the  most  unexceptionable 
testimony. 

**  We  have  learned,"  says  the  council  of  Toledo,  "  that  the 
bishops  treat  their  parishes,  not  episcopaily,  but  cruelly  ;  and 
while  it  has  been  written  *  neither  as  being  lords  over  God's 
heritage,  but  being  ensamples  to  the  (lock,'  they  load  their 
dioceses  with  loss  and  exactions.  It  is  for  this  reason  that 
the  things  which  the  bishops  appropriate  to  themselves  are  to 
be  refused  them,  with  the  exception  of  what  the  ancient  insti- 
tutions grant  thorn  ;  let  the  priests,  whether  pitrochial  or  dio- 
cesan, who  shall  be  tormented  by  tiie  bishop,  carry  their  com- 
plaints to  the  metropolitan,  and  let  the  metropolitan  delay  not 
to  repress  such  excesses.'" 

"  Tiiose  who  have  already  obtained  ecclesiastical  degrees, 
that  is  to  say,  the  priests,"  says  the  council  of  Braga,  "  must 
in  no  way  be  subject  to  receive  blows,  except  for  grave  and 
deadly  faults.  It  is  not  suitable  that  eacli  bishop  should,  ac- 
cording to  his  inclination  and  when  it  pleases  him,  strike  with 
blows  and  cause  his  honorable  ministers  to  sutler,  for  fear  lie 
lose  the  respect  which  is  his  due  from  those  who  are  subject 
to  him.'"' 

'J'he  priests  did  not  lose  all  respect  for  the  bishops,  nor  any 
more  did  they  accept  all  their  tyranny.  An  important  fact, 
and  one  too  little  remarked,  is  seen  here  and  there  during  the 


'  Council  of  Toledo,  in  589,  c  90      »  Council  of  Braga,  in  fl75,  c   7 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  278 

x>urse  of  this  epoch  :  this  is  the  contest  of  the  parochial 
priests  against  the  bishops.  Three  principal  symptoms  in  the 
at;ts  of  the  councils  must  not  be  overlooked  : 

1st.  The  parochial  priests,  the  inferior  clerks,  leagued 
Htiiong  themselves  to  resist  :  they  formed  conjuratios  against 
the  bishops  similar  to  those  conjuratios,  to  those  fraternities 
formed  at  a  later  period  by  the  burghers  against  their  lords. 

"  If  any  priests,  as  has  happened  lately  in  many  places,  at 
lie  instigation  of  the  devil  should  rebel  against  authority, 
uniie  in  a  conspiracy,  should  take  a  common  oath  among 
themselves,  or  unite  in  a  common  bond,  let  such  audacity  be 
concealed  under  no  pretext,  and,  the  thing  once  known,  let 
the  bisho|)s,  assembled  in  synod,  punish  the  guilty  according 
to  their  rank  and  quality.'" 

"  If  any  priests,  for  the  purpose  of  revolt,  should  combine 
in  a  common  bond,  whether  verbal  or  written,  and  should 
cunningly  lay  snares  for  their  bishop  and  once  warned  lo 
give  up  these  practicts  should  refuse  to  obey,  let  them  be  de- 
graded from  tlieir  rank."^ 

2d.  The  priests  have  constantly  recourse  against  their 
bishops,  to  the  aid  of  the  laity,  probably  to  that  of  the  lord  of 
the  manor,  or  any  other  powerful  person  in  the  district  with 
whom  they  are  in  connexion.  We  find  this  injunction  re- 
peatedly in  the  acts  of  the  councils: 

"  Let  not  the  priests  rise  up  against  their  bishops  by  the 
aid  of  secular  power. "^ 

3d.  But  while  repeating  this  prohibition,  while  proscribing 
the  conjurationes  of  the  priests,  the  councils  themselves  en- 
deavored to  apply  some  remedy  to  the  evils  combined  against : 
complaints  were  constantly  addressed  to  them  from  all  quar- 
ters, to  which  tliey  felt  themselves  compelled  to  pay  atten- 
tion :  a  few  passages  from  their  acts  will  be  more  elucidatory 
on  this  point  than  any  comments  of  ours: 

"  As  some  complaints  have  reached  us,  of  certain  bishops 
having  taken  possession  of  things  given  by  the  faithful  for 
he  use  of  their  parishes,  so  that  little  or  nothing  is  left  to  the 
churches  upon  which  these  gifts  were  really  bestowed,  it  ha.s 


•  Council  of  Orleans,  in  538,  c.  2S. 

'  Council  of  Rheir::8  in  625,  c.  2  ;  see  also  the  council  of  Narbruue, 
'n  5S9,  c.  .I. 

*  Council  of  Clermont,  in  535,  c.  4. 

38 


!476  HISTORY    OF 

appeared  to  us  just  and  reasonable,  and  we  hereby  declare 
that,  if  the  church  of  the  city  wherein  the  bishop  resides  ia 
80  well  provided,  that,  by  the  grace  of  Christ,  it  wants  fo: 
nothing,  all  that  remains  to  tiie  parishes  should  be  distrituted 
among  the  clerks  who  officiate  in  them,  or  employed  in  re- 
pairing their  churches.  But  if  the  bishop  is  involved  in 
much  expense,  without  sufficient  revenue  to  meet  it,  there 
shall  be  given  to  the  richer  parishes  that  which  is  fitting  and 
reasonable,  whether  for  priests,  or  for  the  support  of  the 
buildings,  and  let  the  bishop  appropriate  the  surplus  to  his 
own  use,  in  order  that  he  may  provide  for  his  expenses.'" 

"  If  offerings  have  been  inade  to  the  basilicas  established  in 
cities,  of  lands,  goods,  or  any  other  things  whatsoever,  let 
them  be  at  the  disposition  of  the  bishop,  and  let  them  be  free 
to  employ  what  is  suitable,  whether  in  the  repair  of  the  basi- 
lica,  or  in  the  support  of  priests  who  officiate  in  it.  With  re- 
gard to  parochial  property  or  basilicas  established  in  boroughs, 
dependent  upon  cities,  let  the  custom  of  each  place  be  ob- 
served." ^ 

"  It  has  been  decided  that  no  bishop,  in  the  visitation  of  his 
diocese,  shall  receive  from  any  church  anything  beyond  what 
is  due  to  him,  as  a  mark  of  honor  to  his  see  ;  he  shall  not 
take  the  tliird  of  all  the  offerings  of  the  people  in  the  parish 
churches,  but  this  third  shall  remain  for  the  lighting  and  re- 
pairs  of  the  churches;  and  each  year  the  bishop  shall  have 
an  account  of  it.  For  if  the  bishop  take  this  third,  he  robs 
the  church  of  its  light  and  the  support  of  its  roof"* 

"  Avarice  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  and  this  guilty  thirst  seizes 
even  the  hearts  of  the  bishops.  Many  of  the  faithful,  from 
love  for  Christ  and  the  martyrs,  raise  basilicas  in  the  parishes 
of  the  bishops,  and  deposit  oflerii  gs  therein  ;  but  the  bishops 
seize  upon  them  and  turn  them  to  their  own  use.  Thence  it 
follows  that  priests  are  wanting  to  perform  Divine  service, 
because  they  do  not  receive  their  fees.  Dilapidated  cathe- 
drals are  not  re|)aired  because  sacerdotal  avarice  has  carried 
off  all  the  funds.  The  present  orders,  therefore,  that  bishojts 
govern  their  churches  without  receiving  more  than  is  due  to 
them  accorduig  to  the  ancient  decrees,  that  is  to  say,  the  tiiird 
^r  the  ofTermgs  and  of  the  parochial   revenues  ;   if  they  take 


'  Counei'i  (.f  Carper  tras,  in  527,        Council  of  Orleans,  in  ."^38,  c.  5 
'  Council  (if  Rra^a.  in  572,  c.  2 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  371 

riiore  llinn  this,  the  council  will  cause  it  to  bo  rcttirnod  on  tlie 
lomand  of  citlicr  the  founders  of  the  church  themselves  if 
they  be  living,  or  of  their  descendants.  Nevertheless,  the 
founders  of  churches  are  not  to  suppose  that  they  retain  any 
power  whatever  over  the  property  with  which  they  have  en- 
dowed the  said  churches,  seeing  tliat  according  to  the  canons, 
not  only  the  church  itself,  but  the  property  with  which  it  ia 
endowed,  is  under  the  jurisdiction,  duly  administered,  of  thf 
bishop."' 

"  Among  the  things  which  it  behoves  us  to  regulate  by 
common  consent,  it  is  more  especially  necessary  to  meet  dis- 
ci eetly,  the  complaints  of  the  parochial  priests  of  the  province 
ol  Galacia,  touching  the  rapacity  of  their  bishops,  which  has 
grown  to  such  a  height  as  to  compel  the  priests  to  demand 
public  inquiry  into  them  ;  such  inquiry  having  been  made,  it 
has  clearly  resulted  that  these  bishops  overwhelm  their  paro- 
chial churches  with  their  exactions  ;  and  that  while  they 
themselves  wallow  in  luxury,  they  have  brought  many  of  the 
churches  to  the  verge  of  ruin  ;  in  order  to  put  a  stop  to  such 
abuses  we  order  that,  according  to  the  regulations  of  the 
synod  of  Braga,  each  of  the  bishops  of  the  said  province  shall 
receive  annually  from  each  of  the  churches  in  his  diocese  the 
sum  of  two  solidi,'^  and  no  more.  And  .when  the  bishop  visits 
his  diocese,  let  him  be  burdensome  to  no  one  from  the  multi- 
tude of  his  attendants,  let  him  have  no  more  than  five  car- 
riages with  him,  and  let  him  stay  no  longer  than  one  day  at 
each  church."^ 

The  extracts  here  given  are  amply  sufficient  to  prove  the 
oppression  and  the  resistance,  the  evil  and  the  attempt  to  reme- 
dy it ; — the  resistance  was  abortive,  the  remedy  inefTcctual  : 
episcopal  despotism  continued  to  take  deeper  and  wider  root. 
Thus,  at  the  commencement  of  the  eighth  century,  the  church 
had  fallen  into  a  state  of  disorder  almost  equal  to  that  preva- 
lent in  civil  society.  Without  superiors,  without  inferiors  at 
all  to  be  dreaded — relieved  from  the  superintendence  of  the 
metropolitans  and  of  the  councils,  rejecting  the  influence  of 
the  priests — a  crowd  of  bishops  were  seen  yielding  themselves 
lip  to  the  most  scandalous  excesses.  Masters  of  the  ever  in- 
creasing wealth  of  the  church,  ranking  amongst  the  great 


•  Council  of  Toledo,  in  038,  c.  33  '  About  13i 

»  Council  of  Toledo,  in  040,  c.  4. 


i7S  HISTORY    OF 

landed  proprietors,  they  adopted  their  interests  and  their  man 
ners  j  they  relinquished  their  ecclesiastical  character  and  led 
a  wholly  secular  life  ;  they  kept  hounds  and  falcons,  they  went 
from  place  to  place  surrounded  hy  an  armed  retinue,  the} 
took  part  in  the  national  warfare ;  nay  more,  they  undertook, 
from  time  to  time,  expeditions  of  violence  and  rapine  againsi 
their  neighbors  on  their  own  account.  A  crisis  was  inevita. 
ble  :  everything  prepared  the  necessity  fo»  reformation,  every- 
thing proclaimed  it,  and  you  will  see  that  in  point  of  fact, 
anortly  after  the  accession  of  the  Carlovingians,  an  attempt 
at  reformation  was  made  by  the  civil  power,  but  the  church 
herself  contained  the  germ  of  a  remedy :  side  by  side  with 
the  secular  clergy,  there  had  been  rising  up  another  order, 
influenced  by  other  principles,  animated  with  another  spirit, 
and  which  seemed  destined  to  prevent  that  dissolution  with 
which  the  church  was  menaced ;  I  speak  of  the  monks. 
Their  history  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century  will  kv^  the 
object  of  our  next  lecture. 


CIVir.lZATION    IN    FRANCE.  271J 


FOURTEENTH  LECTURE 

IHstury  of  the  regular  clergy,  or  the  monks,  from  the  sixth  to  thi 
eighth  century— That  the  monks  were  at  first  laymen — Importance 
of  this  fact — Or  gin  and  progressive  development  of  the  monastic 
life  in  the  east — I'irst  rules— Importation  of  the  monks  into  the  west 
— They  are  ill  received  tlicrc — Their  fust  progress — Dincrence  be- 
tween eastern  and  western  monasteries — Opinion  of  Saint  JeroK.e, 
as  to  the  errors  of  the  monastic  life — General  causes  of  its  extension 
— State  of  tlio  monks  in  the  west  in  the  fifth  century — Their  power 
and  tlieir  want  of  colicrcncc— Saint  Benedict — His  life — He  founds 
the  monastery  of  Monte  Cassino — Analysis  and  estimate  of  liis  rule 
— It  diffuses  itself  throughout  tlie  west,  and  becomes  predominant 
in  almost  all  the  monasteries  there. 

Since  we  resutned  the  history  of  religious  society  in  Prank- 
ish Gaul,  we  have  considered  :  1,  the  general  dominant  fact 
which  characterized  the  church  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth 
century — that  is  to  say,  its  unity  ;  2,  its  relations  with  the 
state  ;  3,  its  internal  organization,  the  mutual  position  of  the 
governors  and  the  governed,  the  constitution  of  the  govern- 
ment — that  is  to  say,  of  the  clergy. 

VVe  have  seen  that,  towards  the  middle  of  the  eighth  cen- 
tury, the  government  of  the  church,  the  clergy,  had  fallen 
into  a  state  of  great  disorder  and  decay.  We  have  recog- 
nized  a  crisis,  the  necessity  for  reformation  ;  I  mentioned  to 
you  that  a  principle  of  reform  already  existed  in  the  bosom  of 
the  clerg)'  itself;  I  named  the  regular  clergy,  the  monks  ;  it 
is  with  their  history  of  the  same  period  that  we  are  now  about 
to  occupy  ourselves. 

The  term,  regular  clergy,  is  calculated  to  produce  an  illu- 
sory effect ;  it  gives  one  the  idea  that  the  monks  have  always 
been  ecclesiastics,  have  always  essentially  formed  a  part  of 
the  clergy,  and  this  is,  in  point  of  fact,  the  general  notion 
which  has  been  applied  to  them  indiscriminately,  without  re- 
gard to  time,  or  place,  or  to  the  successive  modifications  of  the 
institution.  And  not  only  are  monks  regarded  as  ecclesias- 
tics, but  they  are  by  many  people  considered  as,  so  to  speak, 
the  most  ecclesiastical  of  all  ecclesiastics,  as  the  most  com- 
pletely of  all  clerical  bodies  separated  from  civil  society,  as 
the  most  estranged  from  its  interests  and  from  its  manners. 


280  HISTORY    OP 

This,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  impression  which  the  mere  men 
tion  of  their  name  at  present,  and  for  a  long  time  past,  natu 
rally  arouses  in  the  mind ;  it  is  an  impression  full  of  error ; 
at  their  origin,  and  for  at  least  two  centuries  afterwards,  the 
monks  were  not  ecclesiastics  at  all;  they  were  mere  laymen, 
united  together  indeed  by  a  common  religious  creed,  in  a  com- 
mon religious  sentiment,  and  with  a  common  religious  object, 
but  altogether  apart  from  the  ecclesiastical  society,  from  tho 
o'orgy,  especially  so  called. 

And  not  only  was  such  the  nature  of  the  institution  at  it.' 
origin,  but  this  primitive  character,  which  is  so  generally  un- 
heeded, has  prominently  influenced  its  whole  history,  and 
alone  enables  us  to  comprehend  its  vicissitudes.  I  have 
already  made  some  remarks  upon  the  establishment  of  monas- 
teries in  the  west,  more  especially  in  the  south  of  Gaul.  I 
will  now,  in  renewing  the  subject,  trace  back  the  facts  to  their 
remotest  sources,  and  follow  them  more  closely  in  their  de- 
velopment. 

You  are  all  aware  it  was  in  the  east  that  the  monks  took 
their  rise.  The  form  in  which  they  first  appeared,  was  very 
different  from  that  which  they  afterwards  assumed,  and  in 
which  the  mind  is  accustomed  to  view  them.  In  the  earlier 
years  of  C!iristianity,  a  kw  men  of  more  excitable  imagina- 
tions than  their  fellows,  imposed  upon  themselves  all  sorts  of 
sacrifices  and  of  extraordinary  personal  austerities  ;  this,  how- 
ever, was  no  Christian  innovation,  for  we  find  it,  not  only  in 
a  general  tendency  of  human  nature,  but  in  the  religious 
manners  of  the  entire  east,  and  in  several  Jewish  traditions. 
The  ascetes  (this  was  the  name  first  given  to  these  pious 
enthusiasts  ;  aiKncn,  exercises,  ascetic  life)  were  the  first  form 
of  monks.  They  did  not  segregate,  in  the  first  instance,  from 
civil  society  ;  the)  di -J  not  retire  into  the  deserts  ;  they  only 
condemned  themselves  to  fasting,  silence,  to  all  sorts  of  aus- 
lerities,  more  especially  to  celibacy. 

Soon  afterwards  they  retired  from  the  world  ;  they  went  iC 
live  far  from  mankind,  absolutely  alone,  amidst  woods  and 
deserts,  in  the  depths  of  the  Thebaid.  The  ascetes  bocamt 
hermits,  anchorites  ;  this  was  the  second  form  of  the  monastic 
life. 

Afler  some  time,  from  causes  which  have  left  no  traces  he- 
hind  them-;— yielding,  perhaps,  to  the  powerful  attraction  of 
some  more  peculiarly  celebrated  hermit,  of  Saint  Anthony, 
for  instance,  or   pjrhaps  simply  tircc'  of  complete   i.^o'.ition. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  281 

Xho  nnclioritos  collected  together,  built  their  hut?  side  by  tide, 
nnd  while  continuing  to  live  each  in  his  own  abode,  performed 
their  religious  exercises  together,  and  began  to  form  a  rfgular 
community.  It  was  at  this  time,  as  it  would  seem,  that  they 
first  received  the  name  of  monks.' 

By  and  bye  they  made  a  further  stop  ;  instead  of  remaining 
in  separate  huts,  tliey  collected  in  one  edifice,  under  one  roof: 
the  association  was  more  closely  knit,  the  common  life  more 
complete.  They  became  cenobites  f  this  was  the  fourth  form 
of  the  monastic  institution,  its  definitive  from,  that  to  which 
all  its  subsequent  developments  were  to  adapt  themselves. 

At  about  this  period  we  see  arising,  for  the  conduct  of 
these  houses  of  cenobites,  for  these  monasteries,  a  certain  dis- 
cipline mutually  agreed  upon,  certain  written  rules,  directing 
the  exercises  of  these  small  societies,  and  laying  down  the 
obligations  of  their  members;  among  these  primitive  rules 
of  the  eastern  monks,  the  most  celebrated  are  those  of  Saint 
Anthony,  Saint  Macharius,  Saint  Hilarius,  and  Saint  Paco- 
mus  ;  all  these  rules  are  brief  and  general,  directed  to  a  few 
leading  circumstances  of  life,  but  without  any  pretension  to 
govern  the  whole  life  ;  they  are  precepts,  in  fact,  rather  than 
rules,  customs,  rather  than  laws.  The  ascetes,  the  hermits, 
and  the  other  different  classes  of  monks,  continued  to  subsist, 
concurrently  with  the  cenobites,  in  all  the  independence  of 
their  first  condition. 

The  spectacle  of  such  a  life,  of  so  much  rigidity  and  en- 
thusiasm, of  sacrifice  and  of  liberty,  strongly  excited  the 
imagination  of  the  people.  The  monks  were  multiplied  with 
a  prodigious  rapidity,  and  varied  to  infinity.  As  you  may 
suppose,  I  shall  not  enter  info  the  detail  of  all  the  forms 
\\  hich,  under  this  name,  were  taken  by  the  exaltation  of  the 
fiiithful  ;  I  shall  only  indicate  the  extreme  terms,  so  to  speak, 
»f  the  career  which  it  ran  through,  and  its  two  effects,  at  once 
*he  most  strange  and  the  most  various.  While,  under  the 
name  of  Messalians,  or  ovxtra,  numerous  bands  of  fanatics 
overran  Mesopotamia,  Armenia,  &c.,  rejec'ing  the  legal  wor- 
ship, merely  celebrating  irregular  ."spontaneous  prpyer,  and 
abandoning  themselves  in  the  towns,  upon  public  plore<a,  tr 
nil  sorts  of  extravagances;  others,  in  order  to  separate  thf^ni 


•  Monachus,  fiovax"!,  from  /lorot,  alone. 

'  Cenobita»,  kcivo0ioi,  from  koicoj,  common,  and  fi«3i,  life 


282  HISTORY    OF 

selves  more  completely  from  all  humaa  intercourse,  eslu- 
blished  themselves,  after  the  example  of  Sail  t  Simeon  of 
Antioch,  on  the  summit  of  a  column,  and  under  the  name  of 
stylites,  devoted  their  life  to  this  fantastical  isolation;  and 
neither  one  nor  the  other  were  in  want  of  admirers  and 
Imitators.' 

In  the  last  half  of  the  fourth  century,  the  rule  of  Saint 
Basil  brought  some  regularity  into  the  new  institution 
Digested  into  the  form  of  answers  to  questions  of  all  kinds,^ 
it  soon  became  the  general  discipline  of  the  monasteries  of  the 
west — of  all  those,  at  least,  which  had  neither  any  entirety  nor 
fixity.  Sucli  could  not  fail  to  be  the  result  of  the  influence 
of  the  secular  clergy  over  the  monastic  life,  of  which  the  most 
illustrious  bishops.  Saint  Athanasius,  Saint  Basil,  Saint 
Gregory  Nazianzen,  and  numerous  others,  then  declared 
themselves  the  patrons.  This  patronage  could  not  fail  to 
introduce  into  it  more  order  and  system.  Still,  the  monaste- 
ries remained  purely  lay  associations — strangers  to  the  clergy, 
to  its  functions,  to  its  riglits.  For  the  monks,  there  was  no 
ordination,  no  ecclesiastical  engagements.  Their  dominant 
characteristic  was  always  religious  exaltation  and  liberty. 
They  entered  into  the  association,  they  went  out  from  it,  they 
chose  their  own  abode,  their  own  austerities;  enthusiasm  took 
the  form  and  entered  the  path  which  pleased  it.  The  monks, 
in  a  word,  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  priests,  except 
their  doctrines  and  the  respect  with  which  they  inspired  the 
population. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  monastic  institution  in  the  east 
at  the  last  half  of  the  fourth  century.  It  was  somewhere 
about  this  period  that  it  was  introduced  into  the  west.  Saint 
Athanasius,  driven  from  his  see,  retired  to  Rome  ;^  he  took 
there  with  him  some  monks,  and  there  celebrated  their  virtues 
and  glory.  Ills  accounts,  and  the  spectacle  offered  by  the 
first  monks,  or  those  who  followed  their  example,  were  ill 
received  by  the  western  population.  Paganism  was  still 
rery  strong  in  the  west,  especially  in  Italy.  The  superioi 
classes  who  had  abandoned  its  doctrines  wished  at  least  ta 
preserve  its  manners,  and  a  part  of  the  inferior  orders  still 


*  There  were  atylites  in  the  east  down  to  the  twelfth  century. 

8  It  contained  203  questions,  and  as  many  answers 

9  In  341 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  283 

preserved  its  prejudices.  The  monks,  nt  tlicir  first  appear- 
ance, were  then  an  object  of  contempt  and  of  anger.  At  the 
funeral  of  Blcsilla,  a  young  Roman  nun,  who  died,  it  vvaa 
said,  from  excessive  fasting,  in  384,  the  people  cried  :  "  When 
will  they  drive  this  detestable  race  of  monks  from  the  town  ? 
Why  do  they  not  stone  them  ?  Why  don't  they  throw  them 
into  tlie  river  ?"  It  is  St.  Jerome  who  records  these  popular 
ebullitions.' 

"  In  the  cities  of  Africa,"  says  Salvienus,  "  and  more  espe- 
cially in  Carthage,  no  sooner  did  a  man  in  a  cloak  make  his 
appearance,  pale,  and  with  his  head  shaved,  than  the  miser- 
able infidel  populace  assailed  him  with  curses  and  abuse  ; 
and  if  some  servant  of  God,  from  the  monasteries  of  Egypt,  or 
the  holy  city  of  Jerusalem,  or  the  venerable  retreat  of  some 
hermitage,  proceeded  to  that  city  to  fulfil  some  pious  duty,  the 
people  pursued  him  witli  odious  insults,  ridiculing  and  hissing 
him.'^ 

I  have  already  mentioned  Rutilius  Numatianus,  a  Gaulish 
poet,  who  resided  for  a  long  time  at  Rome,  and  has  left  us  a 
poem,  celebrating  his  return  to  his  native  country  ;  in  the 
course  of  this  poem,  he  says,  in  reference  to  the  Isle  of 
Gorgon  a  : 

"I  detest  those  rocks,  scene  of  the  recent  shipwreck  of  one 
I  hold  dear :  it  was  there  a  fellow-townsman  of  my  own  de- 
scended living  into  the  tomb.  He  was  one  of  our  own  nobles, 
possessor  of  a  splendid  fortune,  blessed  in  a  happy  and  dig- 
nified marriage ;  but,  impelled  by  madness,  he  abandoned 
God  and  men,  and  now,  a  credulous  exile,  foolishly  takes 
delight  in  a  foul  retreat  in  this  island.  Unfortunate  man, 
who  seeks  celestial  food  amidst  filthy  garbage,  and,  more  cruel 
to  himself  than  are  his  offended  gods,  persists  in  his  miserable 
solitude.  This  Christian  sect,  with  its  delusions,  is  more  fatal 
than  are  the  poisons  of  Circe  :  these  only  change  the  body  ; 
that  perverts  the  mind."^ 

Rutilius,  I  admit,  was  a  pagan,  but  numbers  of  men  in  the 
west  were  so  too,  and  received  the  same  impressions. 

Meantime,  the  revolution  which  had  filled  the  east  with 
monks,  pursued  its  course  in  the  west,  bringing  about  gra. 
dually  the  same  results.     Paganism  afler  awhile  disappeared, 


•  Letters  to  Paul,  Lett.  22,  al.  25. 

'  Dc  Gubernatione  Dei,  viii.,  4.  sitin.  i.,  517. 


284  HISTORY  OF 

and  the  new  creed,  the  new  manners,  took  possessif^r  of 
society  at  large ;  and  the  monastic  life,  as  in  the  east)  ijau 
soon  the  greatest  bishops  for  patrons,  the  whole  populatioji 
for  admirers.  St.  Ambrose  at  Milan,  St.  Martin  at  Tours, 
St.  Augustin  in  Africa,  celebrated  its  praises,  and  themselves 
founded  monasteries.  St.  Augustin  drew  up  a  sort  of  rule 
for  the  nuns  of  his  diocese,  and  ere  long  the  institution  was  in 
full  vigor  throughout  the  west. 

It  assumed  there,  however,  from  the  outset,  as  I  have 
already  had  occasion  to  observe,  a  peculiar  character.  Un- 
doubtedly the  original  desire  was  to  imitate  what  had  taken 
place  in  the  east,  and  minute  inquiries  were  made  into  the 
discipline  and  manners  of  tiie  eastern  monasteries;  a  descrip- 
tion of  these,  as  you  are  aware,  formed  the  materials  of  two 
books,  published  at  Marseilles  by  Cassienus ;  and  in  the 
establishment  of  many -of  the  new  monasteries,  great  pains 
weie  taken  to  conform  to  them.  But  the  genius  of  the 
western  character  differed  far  too  widely  from  that  of  the 
east  for  the  difference  not  to  be  stamped  upon  the  respective 
regulations.  The  desire  for  retirement,  for  contemplation, 
for  a  marked  rupture  with  civil  society,  was  the  source  am? 
fundamental  trait  of  the  eastern  monks  :  in  the  west,  on  the 
contrary,  and  especially  in  southern  Gaul,  where,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  fifth  century,  the  principal  monasteries 
were  founded,  it  was  in  order  to  live  in  common,  with  a  view 
to  conversation  as  well  as  to  religious  edification,  that  the  first 
monks  met.  Ihe  monasteries  of  Lerens,  of  Saint  Victor,  and 
many  others,  were  especially  great  schools  of  theology,  the 
focuses  of  intellectual  movement.  It  was  by  no  means  with 
solitude  or  with  mortification,  but  with  discussion  and  activity, 
that  they  there  concerned  themselves. 

And  not  only  was  this  diversity  of  situation  and  turn  of 
mind  in  the  east  and  west  real,  but  contemporaries  them- 
selves observed  it,  paid  attention  to  it ;  and  in  laboring  to 
extend  the  monastic  institution  in  the  west,  clear-sighted 
men  took  care  to  say  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  servilely 
imitate  the  east,  and  to  explain  the  reasons  why.  In  point  of 
fasts  and  austerities,  the  rules  of  the  western  monasteries 
were,  in  general,  less  rigid.  "  Much  eating,"  said  Sulpiciua 
i3<  verus,  "  is  gormandizing  amorjg  the  Greeks,  natural  amonj^ 
the  Gauls.'" 


'  Sulp.  Sev.,  Dial,  i.,  8. 


CIVILIZATION    IN     FRANCE.  '28b 

"  The  rigor  of  winter,"  says  Cassien  also,  "  does  not  permit 
as  to  be  contented  with  ligiit  stockings,  nor  with  a  coat  with- 
out sleeves,  nor  with  a  mere  tunic  ;  and  he  who  shall  present 
himself  clotlied  in  a  small  cloak,  or  in  a  thin  mantle  of  goat'p 
hair,  will  be  laughed  at  instead  of  edifying.'" 

Another  cause  no  less  contributed  to  give  a  new  direction 
to  the  monastic  institution  in  the  west.  It  was  only  in  the 
first  half  of  the  fifth  century  that  it  spread  and  really  esta- 
biished  itself  there.  Now,  at  this  epoch,  tlie  monasteries  of  the 
east  had  already  taken  llieir  full  development  ;  '\11  the  extrava. 
gances  of  ascetic  exaltation  had  already  there  given  a  spec- 
tacle to  the  world.  The  great  bishops  of  the  west,  the  chiefs 
of  the  church  and  of  mind  in  Curope,  whatever  their  religious 
ardor,  were  struck  by  these  excesses  of  the  rising  monacliism, 
the  acts  of  folly  to  which  it  led,  the  vices  which  it  often  covered. 
Certainly  no  native  of  the  west  had  more  religious  enthu- 
siasm, a  more  lively,  more  oriental  imagination,  nor  a  more 
fiery  character,  than  Saint  Jerome.  He  was,  however,  by  no 
means  blind  to  the  faults  and  dangers  of  the  monastic  life, 
such  as  it  was  offered  by  the  east.  I  will  read  some  pas- 
sages in  which  he  expresses  his  thoughts  upon  this  subject ; 
thoy  are  among  the  number  of  the  most  interesting  docu 
ments  of  the  period,  and  which  give  us  the  best  information 
upon  it.  "  There  are  monks,"  says  he,  **  who,  from  the 
dampness  of  the  cells,  from  immoderate  fasts,  from  the  weari- 
ness of  solitude,  from  excess  of  reading,  fall  into  melancholy, 
and  have  more  need  of  the  remedies  of  Hippocrates,  than 
of  our  advice  ...  I  have  seen  persons  of  both  sexes,  in  whom 
the  understanding  has  been  affected  with  too  much  abstinence, 
especially  among  those  who  live  in  cold  and  damp  cells ; 
they  no  longer  knew  what  they  did,  nor  how  to  conduct 
themselves,  nor  when  they  should  speak,  nor  when  keep 
silence. "2 

And  elsewhere  : — 

"I  have  seen  men  who,  renouncing  the  age  only  in  habits 
and  name,  have  changed  nothing  of  their  old  way  of  life. 
Their  fortune  is  rather  increased  than  diminished.  They 
have  the  same  cohorts  of  slaves,  the  same  pomp  of  banquets, 


.  Casaien,  de  Instit.  ccenob.,  1.  ii. 

s  Saint  Jerome,  lelt.   95  (a/.  4),  ad  Rusticum,  97  {al.  8),  ad  D»y 
tnttriadem. 


286  HISTORY    OF 

It  is  gold  that  they  eat  upon  niiseiable  diches  of  delf  oi 
clay  ;  and  amid  the  swarms  of  their  servants,  they  have  tliem. 
selves  called  solitaries."' 

"  Avoid  also  men  whom  thou  shalt  see  loaded  with  chains, 
with  the  beard  of  a  goat,  a  black  cloak,  and  feet  naked  in 
spite  of  cold  .  .  .  They  enter  into  the  houses  of  the  noble* ' 
they  deceive  poor  women  loaded  with  sins ;  they  are  always 
learning,  and  never  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  truth  j  they 
feign  sorrow,  and,  apparently  abandoned  to  long  fusts,  they 
make  amends  at  night  by  secret  feasts."'^ 

And  again  : — 

"  I  blush  to  say  it,  from  the  bottom  of  our  cells  we  condemn 
the  world  j  while  rolling  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  we  pronounce 
our  sentences  upon  bishops.  What  means  this  pride  of  a 
king  under  the  tunic  of  a  penitent '?,...  Pride  quickly 
creeps  into  solitude  :  that  man  has  fasted  a  little ;  he  has 
seen  no  one  ;  he  already  thinks  himself  a  weighty  personage  ; 
he  forgets  what  he  is,  whence  he  came,  where  he  goes ;  and 
his  heart  and  language  already  wander  on  all  sides.  Contrary 
to  the  will  of  the  apostle,  he  judges  other  people's  servants; 
he  goes  wherever  his  gluttony  leatls  him  ;  he  sleeps  as  long 
and  as  often  as  he  pleases  ;  he  respects  no  one  ;  he  does  what- 
ever he  chooses;  he  looks  down  on  every  one  else  as  inferior 
from  himself;  he  is  oftener  out  in  the  town  than  in  his  cell, 
and  while  he  afTects  retiring  modesty  amongst  his  brethren, 
in  the  public  streets  he  thrusts  himself  against  any  pas- 
senger."^ 

Thus,  the  most  impassioned,  the  most  enthusiastic  of  h\e 
fathers  of  the  west  was  not  unacquainted  either  with  the 
Insanity,  hypocrisy,  or  the  intolerable  pride  which  from  that 
time  the  monastic  life  gave  birth  to;  and  characterized  them 
with  that  indignant  good  sense,  that  satirical  and  passionate 
eloquence  which  is  his  characteristic  ;  and  he  denounced  them 
loudly,  for  fear  of  the  contagion. 

Many  of  the  most  illustrious  bishops  of  the  west,  Saint 
Augustin  among  others,  had  the  same  foresight,  and  wrote  in 
the  same  strain  ;  they  also  applied  themselves  to  the  preven- 


'  Saint  Jerome,  lett.  95  {al.  7),  ad  Rtistictiin. 
«  Saint  Jerome,  lett.  18  (al.  22),  ad  Eustochium. 
»  Saint  Jerome,  lett.  15  (a/   77),  ad  Marcttm ;  97  {al  i),ad  Jim 
ficvm. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  281 

lion  of  the  absu'd  extravagances  into  which  the  monks  ot 
the  east  had  fa.leii.  But  in  attending  to  this,  in  inarliing 
the  insanity  or  Iiypocrisy  of  whicli  tlie  monastic  life  served  aa 
the  groundwork,  they  incessantly  labored  to  propagate  it. 
It  was  a  means  for  them  of  drawing  away  from  pagan  civil 
society,  always  the  same  in  fact,  despite  its  api)arcnt  con. 
versation,  a  portion  of  the  laity.  Without  entering  into  the 
clergy,  the  monks  followed  the  same  path,  served  the  same 
influcncf  ;  the  patronage  of  the  bishops  could  not  be  wanting 
to  tlicni.  Had  it  been  wanting  to  them,  their  progress  pro- 
l)ably  would  not  have  been  diminished.  It  was  not  to  any 
ecclesiastical  combination,  nor  even  to  the  movement  and  the 
oarticular  direction  that  Christianity  might  impress  upon 
men's  imaginations,  that  the  monastic  life  owed  its  origin. 
1'he  general  state  of  society  at  this  epoch,  was  its  true  source. 
It  was  tainted  with  three  vices,  idleness,  corruption,  and  un- 
happiness.  Men  were  unoccupied,  perverted,  and  a  prey  to  all 
kinds  of  miseries;  this  is  the  reason  that  we  find  so  many 
turning  monks.  A  laborious,  honest,  or  happy  people,  would 
never  have  entered  into  this  life.  "When  human  nature  could 
not  fully  and  harmoniously  display  itself,  when  man  could  not 
pursue  the  true  aim  of  his  destiny,  it  was  then  that  his  de- 
velopment became  eccentric,  and  that,  rather  than  accept 
ruin,  he  cast  himself,  at  all  risks,  into  the  strangest  situations. 
In  order  to  live  and  act  in  a  regular  and  reasonable  manner, 
mankind  requires  that  the  facts,  in  the  midst  of  which  it  lives 
and  acts,  should  be,  to  a  certain  degree,  reasonable  regular  ; 
that  its  faculties  should  find  employment,  that  its  condition 
should  not  be  too  austere,  that  the  spectacle  of  general  cor- 
ruption and  abasement  should  not  rebel  against,  should  not 
desolate  strong  souls,  in  which  morality  cannot  be  deadened. 
The  weariness,  the  disgust  at  an  enervated  pervisity,  and 
the  desire  to  fly  from  the  public  miseries,  is  what  made  the 
monks  of  the  east  far  more  than  the  particular  cho»-acter  of 
Christianity  or  an  access  of  religious  exaltatiori.  Those  same 
circumstances  existed  in  the  west ;  Italian,  Gaulish,  \frican 
society,  amidst  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  and  the  devastiitions  of 
the  barbarians,  was  as  unhappy,  as  depraved,  as  idle,  as  that 
of  Asia  Minor  or  Egypt.  The  true  causes  of  the  continual 
extension  of  the  monastic  life  were,  therefore,  the  same  in 
l>oth  countries,  and  must  have  produced  in  them  the  '^ame 
edbcts. 

Despite  the  diveisities  which  I  have  remarked,  the  simili 


888  HISTORY    OF 

tude  was  also  Very  great,  and  the  coui  sels  of  the  most  illustri- 
ous  bishops  did  not  prevent  tlie  extravagances  of  the  monka 
of  the  east  from  finding  imitators  in  the  west.  Neither  her- 
mits, recluses,  nor  any  of  the  pious  follies  of  the  ascetic  life 
were,  wanting  in  Gaul.  Saint  Senoch,  a  barbarian  by  birth, 
retired  into  the  environs  of  Tours,  inclosed  himself  within 
four,  walls,  so  close  together,  that  he  could  make  no  moxemeni 
with  the  lower  part  of  his  person,  and  lived  many  years  in 
this  situation,  an  object  of  veneration  to  the  surrounding  popu- 
lation. 

The  recluses,  Caluppa  in  Auvergne,  Patroclus  in  the  terri- 
tory of  Langres,  Ilospitius  in  Provence,  were  not  quite  so  ad- 
mirable;  still  their  celebrity  was  great,  as  were  their  austeri- 
ties.^  Even  the  stylites  had  competitors  in  the  west;  and  the 
account  which  Gregory  of  Tours  has  left  us  concerning  them, 
paints  the  manners  of  the  times  with  so  much  truth  and  inte- 
rest, that  I  must  read  it  to  you  entire.  Gregory  gives  an  ac- 
count of  his  own  conversation  witii  tlie  monk  Wulfila'ich,  doubt- 
less a  barbarian,  as  his  name  indicates,  and  who  was  the  first 
in  the  west  to  attempt  setting  up  as  a  rival  for  Saint  Simeon 
of  Antioch. 

"  I  went  into  the  territory  of  Treves,"  says  Wulfilaich  to 
Gregory ;  "  '  I  there  constructed,  with  my  own  hands,  upon 
this°mountain,  the  little  du'elli:4g  which  you  see.  I  found 
there  an  image  of  Diana,  which  the  people  of  the  place,  still 
infidels,  adored  as  a  divinity.  I  raised  a  column  upon  which 
I  remained  witii  great  suffering,  and  without  any  kind  of 
shoes  or  stockings ;  and  wlien  the  winter  season  arrived,  I 
was  so  affected  with  the  rigors  of  the  frost,  that  very  often  the 
nails  have  fallen  from  my  feet,  and  frozen  water  has  hung 
from  my  beard  in  the  form  of  candles  ;  for  this  country  has 
the  reputation  of  often  liaving  very  severe  winters.'  We  ear- 
nestly asked  him  to  say  what  was  his  nourishment  and  drink, 
and  how  he  had  overthrown  the  idol  of  the  mountain  ;  he 
said — '  My  food  was  a  little  bread  and  herbs,  and  a  small 
quantity  of  water.  But  a  large  number  of  people  from  tlie 
neigliboring  villages  began  to  flock  towards  me  ;  I  continually 
preached  to  them  that  Diana  did  not  exist  ;  tliat  the  idol  and 
the  other  objects  to  which  they  thought  it  their  duty  to  ad- 
dress  worship,  were  absolutely  nothing.     I   also  repeated  to 

>  See  Gregory  of  Tours,  vol.  i.,  p.  231,  312,  in  my  Collection  dt^ 
Mf'uoires  relatifs  a  V  Histoire  de  France. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  289 

hem  that  those  canticles  which  they  usually  sang  while 
drinking,  and  amidst  their  debaucheries,  were  unworthy  of 
'.he  Divinity,  and  that  it  would  be  far  better  if  they  ofiered 
the  sacrifices  of  their  praises  to  the  all-powerful  God  who  madn 
iieaven  and  eartii ;  1  also  oflcn  prayed  the  Lord  to  deign  to 
overthrow  the  idol,  and  draw  these  people  from  their  errors. 

The  mercy  of  the  Lord  worked  upon  those  gross  minds,  and 
disposed  them,  lending  an  ear  to  my  words,  to  quit  their  idols, 
and  follow  the  Lord.  1  assembled  some  of  them,  in  order  that 
I  might,  with  their  help,  thrown  down  the  immense  image 
which  I  could  not  destroy  by  my  own  strength.  1  had  alrea- 
dy  broken  the  other  idols,  which  was  more  easy.  Many  as. 
ecmhled  around  the  statue  of  Diana  ;  they  threw  cords  around 
it,  and  began  to  pull ;  but  all  their  efforls  could  not  break  it. 
I  then  went  to  the  cathedral,  threw  myself  upon  the  ground, 
and  with  tears  implored  tlie  Divine  mercy  to  destroy  by  the 
powers  of  Iieaven,  what  earthly  efibrts  did  not  suffice  to  throw 
down.  After  my  prayer  I  left  the  cathedral,  and  immediately 
returned  to  the  laborers ;  I  took  the  cord,  and  we  immediately 
reconunenced  pulling.  At  the  first  effort  the  idol  fell  to  the 
ground ;  it  was  afterwards  broken,  and  reduced  to  powder  by 
iron  mallets I  felt  disposed  to  return  to  my  ordi- 
nary way  of  life;  but  the  bishops,  who  wished  to  strengthen 
me,  in  order  that  I  might  continue  more  perfectly  the  work 
which  I  had  commenced,  came  to  me  and  said  : — '  The  way 
that  you  have  chosen  is  not  the  right  way  ;  you  are  unwor- 
thy, and  cannot  oe  compared  with  Saint  Simeon  of  Antioch, 
who  lived  upon  his  column.  Besides,  the  situation  ot  the 
place  does  not  permit  of  a  like  amount  of  suffering  ;  descend 
rather,  and  live  with  the  brothers  that  you  have  assembled.' 
At  these  words,  that  I  might  not  be  accused  of  disobedience 
towards  the  bishop,  1  descended,  and  I  went  with  them,  and 
also  took  some  repast  with  them.  One  day,  the  bishop  having 
despatched  me  to  some  distance  from  the  village,  sent  laborers 
with  hatchets,  chisels,  and  hammers,  and  threw  down  the 
column  on  which  I  used  to  live.  When  I  returned  the  next 
day,  I  found  all  destroyed  ;  1  wept  bitterly  ;  but  I  did  not 
wish  to  re-establish  what  was  destroyed,  for  fear  of  being  ac- 
cused of  going  against  the  orders  of  the  bishops;  and  from 
ihat  time  I  have  remained  here,  and  contented  myself  with 
living  with  my  brothers.'  ''*' 

'  Greg,  of  Tours,  vol.  i.,  p.  440- -444. 


200  HISTORY    OF 

All  is  equally  remarkable  in  this  account,  both  the  oner 
getic  devotion  and  the  inward  enthusiasm  of  the  Jiermit,  anJ 
the  good  sense,  perhaps  with  a  touch  of  jealousy,  of  the 
bishops ;  we  meet  in  it  at  once  the  influence  of  the  east,  and 
the  peculiar  character  of  the  west.  And  as  tlit  bishop  ot 
Treves  repressed  the  msanity  of  the  stylites,  so  Saint  Au- 
gustin  assailed  hypocrisy  wandering  under  the  monkish 
cbak. 

"  The  subtle  enemy  of  mankind,"  says  he,  '<  has  every, 
where  dispersed  hypocrites  under  the  features  of  monks  ;  they 
overrun  the  provinces,  where  no  one  has  sent  them,  wander- 
ing in  every  direction,  not  establishing  themselves,  staying 
nowhere.  Some  go  about  selling  relics  of  martyrs ;  that  is  to 
say,  if  they  be  relics  of  martyrs  ;  otliers  show  their  robes  and 
their  phylacteries !"' 

I  might  cite  many  other  examples  in  which  this  two-fold 
fact,  the  resemblance  and  the  dilFerence  of  tlie  east  and  the 
west,  is  likewise  marked.  Amidst  these  eccentricities,  through 
these  alternations  of  folly  and  wisdom,  the  progress  of  the  mo- 
nastic institution  continued  ;  the  number  of  monks  went  on 
increasing ;  they  wandered  or  became  fixed,  they  excited  the 
nation  by  their  preachings,  or  edified  it  by  the  spectacle  of 
their  life.  From  day  to  day  they  received  greater  admira- 
tion  and  respect ;  the  idea  became  established  that  this  was 
the  perfection  of  Christian  conduct.  They  were  proposed  as 
models  for  the  clergy  ;  already  some  of  them  had  been  or- 
dained, in  order  to  make  them  priests  or  even  bishops ;  and 
yet  they  were  still  laity,  preserving  a  great  degree  of  liberty, 
contracting  no  kind  of  religious  engagement,  always  distinct 
from  the  clergy,  often  even  purposely  separating  from  it. 

"  It  is  the  ancient  advice  of  the  fathers,"  says  Cassien, 
"  advice  which  endures,  that  a  monk,  at  any  cost,  must  fly 
bishops  and  women,  for  neither  women  nor  bishops  allow  a 
monk  who  has  once  become  familiar  with  them,  to  rest  in 
peace  in  his  cell,  nor  to  fix  his  eyes  on  pure  and  celestial  doc 
trine,  contemplating  holy  things. "^ 

So  nmch  liberty  and  power,  so  strong  an  influence  over  the 
people  and  such  an  absence  of  general  forms,  of  regular  or. 
ganization,  could  not  fail  to  give  rise  to  great  disorder.     Th« 


'  Saint  Augustin,  de  Opao  Monac.  c.  548. 
*  Coaaicn,  de  Instil,  ccenob.,  xi.  17, 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  291 

nrcess'ty  of  putting  an  end  to  it,  of  assembling  these  missiona. 
ries,  these  solitaries,  these  recluses,  these  cenobites,  who 
every  day  became  more  numerous,  and  were  neither  of  the 
ncople  nor  the  clergy,  under  a  common  government,  under 
one  discipline,  was  strongly  felt. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  fifth  century,  in  480,  there  was  born 
in  Italy,  at  Nursia,  in  the  duchy  of  Spoleto,  of  a  wealthy  and 
considerable  family,  the  man  destined  to  resolve  this  problem, 
-O  give  to  the  monks  of  the  west  the  general  rule  for  which 
they  waited  ;  I  speak  of  Saint  Benedict.  At  the  age  of  twelve 
years  he  was  sent  to  Rome  to  prosecute  his  studies.  This 
was  the  time  of  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  and  the  great  troubles 
of  Italy  ;  the  IleruU  and  the  Ostrogoths  disputed  for  its  pos- 
session ;  Theodoric  drove  out  Odoacer  ;  Rome  was  incessantly 
taken,  re-taken,  threatened.  In  494,  Benedict,  scarcely 
twelve  years  of  age,  left  it  with  Cyrilla,  his  nurse;  and  a 
short  time  afterwards,  we  find  him  a  hermit  in  the  depths  of 
a  cavern,  at  Subiaco,  in  the  Campagna  di  Roma. 

As  to  why  this  child  retired  there,  how  he  lived,  nothing  is 
known  ;  for  his  legend,  our  only  account,  places  at  every  step 
a  moral  wonder,  or  a  miracle,  properly  so  called.  However 
this  may  have  been,  at  the  end  of  a  certain  period,  the  life  of 
Benedict,  his  youth  and  his  austerities,  attracted  the  shepherds 
of  the  neighborhood  ;  he  preached  to  them  ;  and  the  power 
of  his  word  and  the  authority  of  his  example,  the  always 
numerous  concourse  of  auditors,  soon  rendered  him  celebrated. 
In  510,  the  neijrhborinw  monks  of  Vicovaro  wished  to 
have  him  for  their  chief;  he  at  first  refused,  telling  the 
monks  that  their  conduct  was  disorderly,  that  they  abandoned 
themselves  in  their  house  to  all  kinds  of  excesses,  that  they 
should  undertake  reformation  and  submit  themselves  to  a  very 
severe  rule.  They  persisted,  and  Benedict  became  abbot  of 
Vicovaro. 

He,  in  effect,  undertook  with  Invincible  energy  the  refor- 
mation  which  he  had  spoken  of;  as  he  had  foreseen,  the  monks 
were  soon  tired  of  a  reformer.  The  struggle  between  them 
and  him  became  so  violent  thfi  they  attempted  to  poison  him 
m  the  cha  ice.  He  perceived  it  by  a  miracle,  says  the  legend  ; 
quitted  the  monastery,  and  retook  to  his  hermit  life  at 
Subiaco. 

His  renown  spread  far  ;  not  only  the  shepherds,  but  la3"men 
of  every  condition,   and  wandering   monks,  assembled  to  live 
near  him.     Equitius  and  TertuUus,  noble  Romans,  sent  theft 
89 


i92  HISTOR/    OF 

sons,  Maurus  and  Placidus  to  him;  Maiirus  at  the  age  of 
twelve,  Placidus  quite  an  infant.  He  founded  ni  masteries 
around  his  cavern.  In  520,  it  appears  that  he  had  founded 
twelve,  each  composed  of  twelve  monks,  in  which  he  began  to 
try  the  ideas  and  institutions  by  vviiich,  in  his  opinion,  the 
monastic  life  should  be  regulated.. 

But  the  same  spirit  of  insubordination  and  jealousy  which 
had  driven  him  from  the  monastery  of  Vicovaro  was  soon 
manifested  in  those  which  he  had  himself  just  founded.  A 
monk  named  Florentius  raised  up  enemies  against  him,  laid 
snares  for  him.  Benedict  was  irritated,  and  a  second  time 
renounced  the  struggle,  and,  taking  some  of  his  disciples, 
among  others,  Maurus  and  Placidus,  he  retired,  in  528,  to 
the  frontiers  of  the  Abruz'/.i  and  the  Terra  di  Lavoro,  near 
Cassino. 

He  there  found  what  the  hermit  Wulfilaich,  whose  history  1 
have  just  mentioned,  found  near  Treves,  paganism  still  in  ex- 
istence, and  the  temple  and  statue  of  Apollo  standing  on 
Mount  Cassino,  a  hill  which  overlooks  the  town.  Benedict 
overthrew  the  temple  and  the  statue,  extirpated  paganism, 
collected  numerous  disciples,  and  founded  a  new  monastery. 

It  was  here,  where  he  remained  and  ruled  to  the  end  of  Ids 
life,  that  he  entirely  applied  himself  to,  and  published,  his 
Rules  of  Monastic  Life.  It  soon  became,  as  every  one  knows, 
the  general,  and  almost  only  law  of  the  monks  of  the  west. 
It  was  by  this  rule  of  Saint  Benedict  that  the  western  monas- 
tical  institution  was  reformed,  and  received  its  definitive  form. 
Let  us  stop  here  then,  ana  examine  with  some  care  this  small 
code  of  a  society  which  has  played  so  important  a  part  in  the 
history  of  Europe. 

The  author  commences  by  explaining  the  state  of  the 
western  monks  at  this  epoch  j  that  is  to  say,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  sixth  century  : 

"  It  is  well  known,"  says  he,  *'  that  there  are  four  kinds 
of  monks ;  firstly,  the  ccnohiics,  those  who  live  in  a  monas- 
tery, under  a  ruler  or  abbot.  The  second  kind  is  that  of  the 
anchorites,  that  is  to  say,  hermits  j  those  who,  not  from  the 
fervor  of  a  novice,  but  by  long  proof  of  the  monastic  life 
have  already  learned,  to  the  great  profit  of  many  people,  to 
Rombat  against  the  devil,  and  who,  well  prepared,  go  out 
alone  from  the  army  of  their  brothers  to  engage  in  a  single 

C5<)mbat The  third    kind  of  monks  is  that  of  tho 

SJ1  ibdi'cs,   who,   not   being   tried    by   any   rule,    nor    by  aij) 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  205J 

essone  Df  experience,  as  gold  is  tried  in  the  furnace,  and 
similar  rather  to  the  soft  nature  of  lead,  by  their  works  keep 
fealty  to  the  age,  and  lie  to  God  by  their  tonsure.  We  meet 
these  to  the  number  of  two,  three,  or  more,  without  pastor,  not 
caring  about  the  sheep  of  the  Lord,  but  merely  their  own 
particular  flock  ;  tlieir  law  is  their  desire ;  what  they  think 
or  prefer,  that  they  call  holy  ;  what  does  not  please  them  they 
8<iy  is  not  permitted.  The  fourth  kind  is  that  of  the  monks 
who  are  called  gyrovagi,  who,  during  their  whole  life,  inhabit 
various  cells  for  three  or  four  days,  in  various  provinces, 
always  wandering— never  settled,  obeying  the  bent  of  their 
luxuries  and  the  debaucheries  of  gormandizing,  and  in  every 
respect  worse  than  the  sarabaites.  It  is  much  better  to  hold 
our  peace  than  to  speak  of  their  miserable  way  of  life :  pass- 
ing  them  in  silence,  let  us,  with  God's  aid,  regulate  the  strong 
association  of  the  ccnohites."  „  ■      n       j-      • 

The  facts  thus  established,  the  rule  of  Saint  Benedict  is 
divided  into  seventy-three  chapters,  namely  : 

Nine  chapters  concerning  the  moral  and  general  duties  ot 

the  brothers; 

Thirteen  concerning  religious  duties  and  ofiices  ; 

Twenty-nine  concerning  discipline,  faults,  penalties,  &c. ; 

Ten  concerning  the  internal  government  and  administra- 
tion ;  , 

Twelve  concerning  various   subjects,   as   guests,    brothers 

travelling,  &c. ;  ,       ,       o    n  •  * 

That  is,— 1.  nine  chapters  on  the  moral  code;  2.  thirteen 
on  the  religious ;  3.  twenty -nine  of  the  penal  code  or  disci- 
pline  ;  4.  ten  of  the  political  code  ;  5.  twelve  upon  various 
subiGcts* 

Let  us  take  each  of  these  small  codes,  and  see  what  prin, 
ciples  dominate  in  them,  what  was  the  meaning  and  compass 
of  the  reformation  which  their  author  brought  about. 

1.  With  regard  to  the  moral  and  general  duties  of  monks, 
the  points  upon  which  the  whole  rule  of  Saint  Benedict  rests 
are,  self-denial,  obedience,  and  labor.  Some  of  the  nionks  of 
the  west  had  often  endeavored  to  introduce  labor  into  their 
life ;  but  the  attempt  had  never  become  general,  was  never 
'bllowed  up.  This  was  the  great  revolution  which  Sainl 
Benedict  made  in  the  monastic  institution  ;  he  especially  m. 
Iroduced  manual  and  agricultural  labor  into  it.  The  Bene 
dictine  monks  were  the  agriculturists  of  Europe;  the) 
cleared    it    on    a    large   scale,   associating    agriculture    witl 


204  mSTOBY    OF 

preaching.  A  colony,  a  swarm  of  monks,  not  very  numa 
rou3  at  first,  transported  themselves  into  uncultivated  places, 
or  almost  so,  often  into  the  mijst  of  a  still  pagan  population, 
into  Germany,  for  example,  or  Brittany  ;  and  there,  at  once 
missionaries  and  laborers,  they  accomplished  their  two-fold 
task,  often  attended  with  as  much  danger  as  fatigue.  This  is 
how  Saint  Benedict  regulated  the  employment  of  the  day  in 
his  monasteries ;  you  will  see  that  labor  there  occupied  a 
groat  place  : 

*  Laziness  is  the  enemy  of  the  soul,  and  consequently  the 
brothers  should,  at  certain  times,  occupy  themselves  in  manual 
labor  ;  at  others,  in  holy  reading.  We  think  that  this  should 
be  thus  regulated.  From  Easter  to  the  month  of  October, 
after  the  first  prime,  they  should  work,  nearly  to  the  fourth 
hour,  at  whatever  may  be  necessary  :  from  the  fourth  hour, 
nearly  to  the  sixth,  they  shall  apply  themselves  to  reading. 
After  the  sixth  hour,  on  leaving  the  table,  they  shall  repose 
quietly  in  their  beds  :  or  if  any  one  wishes  to  read,  let  him 
read,  but  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  disturb  others  :  and  let 
nones  be  said  at  the  middle  of  the  eighth  hour.  Let  them 
work  till  vespers  at  whatever  there  may  be  to  do ;  and  if  the 
poverty  of  tlie  place,  necessity,  or  the  harvest  keep  them  con- 
stantly employed,  let  them  not  mind  that,  for  they  are  truly 
monks  if  they  live  by  manual  labor,  as  our  brothers  the 
aoostles  did  ;  but  let  everything  be  done  with  moderation,  for 
tiie  sake  of  the  weak. 

"  From  the  month  of  October,  until  the  beginning  of  Lent, 
^L  them  be  occupied  in  reading  until  the  second  hour ;  at 
Jje  second  let  them  sing  tierce,  and  until  nones  let  all  work 
at  what  is  jnjoined  them ;  at  the  first  stroke  of  nones  let 
them  quit  work,  and  be  j'eady  the  moment  the  second  stroke 
shall  sound.  After  repast,  let  them  read  or  recite  the 
psalms. 

"  During  Lent,  let  them  read  from  the  morning  until  the 
dhird  hour,  and  let  them  then  work  as  they  shall  be  ordered, 
until  the  tenth  hour.  During  Lent,  all  shall  receive  booka 
from  the  library,  which  they  shall  read  one  after  another  all 
through.  These  books  shall  be  given  at  the  commencemen* 
of  Lent.  Especially  let  one  or  two  ancients  be  chosen  to  go 
through  the  monastery  at  the  hours  when  the  brothers  are 
occupied  in  reading,  and  let  them  see  if  they  find  any  ncgli- 
fjont  brother  who  abandons  himself  to  repose,  or  to  conversa- 
Uon,  who  in  no  way  applies   himself  to  reading,  who  is  no} 


CIVILIZATICN    IN    FRANCE.  295 

only  useless  to  himself,  but  who  distracts  the  others.  If  one  of 
iho  kind  is  found,  let  him  be  reprimanded  once  or  twice  ;  if  he 
do  not  amend,  let  him  be  subjected  to  the  regulated  correction, 
in  order  to  intimidate  the  others.  On  Sunday  let  all  be  occu- 
pied in  reading,  except  those  who  are  selected  for  various 
functions.  If  any  one  be  negligent  or  lazy,  so  that  he  neither 
wishes  nor  is  able  to  meditate  or  read,  let  some  labor  be  en- 
joined  upon  him,  so  that  he  may  not  remain  doing  nothing. 
As  regards  infirm  or  delicate  brothers,  let  some  work  or  em- 
ployrncnt  bo  imposed,  so  that  they  may  neither  be  lazy  nor 

loaded  witli  the  severity  of  the  work Their  weakness 

should  be  taken  into  consideration  by  the  abbot.'*' 

Together  with  labor.  Saint  Benedict  prescribes  passive 
obedience  of  the  monks  to  their  superiors :  a  rule  less  new, 
and  which  prevailed  also  among  tiie  monks  of  the  east,  but 
which  he  laid  down  in  a  much  more  express  manner,  and 
more  vigorously  developing  its  consequences.  It  is  impossi- 
ble, in  studying  the  history  of  European  civilization,  not  to  be 
astonished  at  the  part  which  is  there  played  by  this  idea,  and 
not  curiously  to  seek  its  origin.  Of  a  surety,  Europe  re- 
ceived it  neither  from  Greece,  ancient  Rome,  the  Germans, 
nor  from  Christianity,  properly  so  called.  It  began  to  appear 
under  the  Roman  empirt>,  and  arose  out  of  the  worship  of  the 
imperial  majesty.  But  it  was  in  the  monastic  institution  that 
it  was  truly  aggrandized  and  developed  ;  it  is  from  thence 
that  it  set  out  to  spread  itself  into  modern  civilization.  Thai 
is  the  fatal  present  that  the  monks  made  to  Europe,  and 
which  so  long  altered  or  enervated  its  virtues.  This  princi- 
ple is  incessantly  repeated  in  the  rule  of  St.  Benedict.  Many 
chapters,  entitled,  Ve  ohedicntia,  dc  humilUaie,  ^-c,  announce 
and  comment  upon  it  in  detail.  Here  are  two  wliich  will 
show  to  what  a  point  the  rigor  of  application  was  pressed. 
Chapter  sixty- eight,  entitled.  If  a  brother  is  ordered  to  any- 
thing impossible,  is  thus  expressed  : 

"  If  by  chance  anything  difficult  or  impossible  be  imposed 
upon  a  brother,  let  him  receive  with  all  mildness  and  obedi- 
ence the  command  which  is  imposed  upon  him.  If  he  sees 
that  the  thing  entirely  surpasses  the  extent  of  his  power,  let 
him  explain  fitly  and  patiently  to  his  superior  the  reason  of 
Lhe  impossibility,  not   inflamed  with   pride,  not   resisting,  not 


1  Reg.  S.  Bened.,  c   48. 


296  HISTORY    ( F 

contradicting.  If,  after  his  observation,  the  prior  persiata 
in  his  opinion  and  his  command,  let  the  disciple  know  that 
it  ought  to  be  so,  and,  confiding  in  the  aid  of  God,  let  him 
obey." 

Chapter  sixty-nine  is  entitled,  That  in  a  monastery  no  one 
must  defend  another,  and  goes  on  to  say : — 

"It  is  necessary  to  be  very  careful  that,  upon  no  pretext, 
a  monk  dare  in  the  monastery  defend  another,  or,  so  to  speak, 
protect  him,  even  when  he  shall  be  related  by  the  ties  ol 
blood  ;  let  this  in  no  manner  be  dared  by  the  monks,  be- 
cause it  miglil  lead  to  grave  and  scandalous  occurrences. 
If  a  \y  one  transgress  in  this,  let  him  be  severely  repri- 
manded." 

Self-denial  is  the  natural  consequence  of  passive  obedience. 
Whoever  is  bound  to  obey  absolutely,  and  on  every  occasion, 
exists  not ;  all  personality  is  torn  from  him.  The  rule  of 
Saint  Ben  diet  formally  establishes  the  interdiction  of  all 
property  a  s  well  as  all  personal  will. 

"  It  is  e  specially  necessary  to  extirpate  from  the  monastery, 
and  unto  the  very  root,  the  vice  of  any  one  possessing  any- 
thing in  particular.  Let  no  person  dare  to  give  or  receive 
without  the  order  of  the  abbot,  nor  have  anything  of  his  own 
peculiar  property,  not  a  book,  nor  tablets,  nor  a  pen,  nor  any. 
thing  whatsoever ;  fur  it  is  not  permitted  tliem  even  to  have 
their  body  and  their  will  under  their  own  power.'" 

Can  individuality  be  more  completely  abolished  ? 

2.  I  shall  not  detain  you  with  the  thirteen  chapters  which 
regulate  worship  and  the  religious  offices  ;  they  do  not  give 
rise  to  any  important  observation. 

3.  Those  which  treat  of  discipline  and  penalties,  on  the 
contrary,  require  our  best  attention.  It  is  here  that  perhaps 
the  most  considerable  of  the  changes  brought  about  by  Saint 
Benedict  into  the  monastic  institution  appears,  the  introduc- 
tion  of  solemn  and  perpetual  vows.  Hitherto,  although  the 
entering  into  thp  nwnastery  gave  reason  to  presume  the  in- 
tention of  remaining  tiiere,  although  the  moidc  contracted  a 
kind  of  moral  obligation  which  daily  tended  to  take  great 
fixity,  stiii  no  vow,  no  formal  engagement,  was  yet  pronounced. 
It  Was  Saint  Benedict  who  introduce!  them,  and  made  them 
the  basis  of  the  monastic  life,  of  which  the  primitive  charac- 


Reg.  S.  Bened.,  c.  33. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANi:E.  207 

Cet  thus  entirely  disappeared,  Thi?  character  was  exaltation 
an  J  liberty  ;  perpetual  vows,  which  could  not  long  delay 
oeing  placed  under  the  care  of  the  public  power,  substituted 
a  law,  an  institution. 

"  Let  him  who  is  to  be  received,"  say3  the  rule  of  Saint 
Benedict,  "  promise  in  the  oratory,  before  God  and  his  Saints, 
the  perpetuity  of  his  stay,  tlie  reformation  of  his  manners  and 
obedience.  Let  a  deed  be  made  of  this  promise,  in  the  namo 
of  tiie  saints  whose  relics  are  deposited  there,  and  in  presence 
of  the  abbot.  Let  him  write  this  deed  with  his  own  hand, 
or,  if  he  cannot  write,  let  another,  at  his  request,  write  it  for 
him,  and  let  the  novice  put  a  cross  to  it,  and  with  his  own 
hand  deposit  the  deed  upon  the  altar.'" 

The  word  novice  reveals  another  innovation  to  us  ;  a  novi- 
ciate was,  in  fact,  the  natural  consequence  of  the  perpetuity 
of  vows,  and  Saint  Benedict,  who,  to  an  exalted  imagination 
and  an  ardimt  character,  joined  much  good  sense,  and  practical 
sagacity,  failed  not  to  prescribe  it.  Its  duration  was  more 
than  a  year.  They  read  by  degrees  the  whole  rule  to  the 
novice,  saying  to  him  :  "  Here  is  the  law  under  which  you 
wish  to  strive;  if  you  can  observe  it,  enter;  if  you  cannot, 
go  freely."  Upon  the  whole,  the  conditions  and  forms  of 
trial  arc  evidently  conceived  in  a  spirit  of  sincerity,  and  with 
(he  intention  of  being  well  assured  that  the  will  of  the  can- 
didate was  real  and  strong. 

4.  As  regards  the  political  code,  the  government  itself  of 
the  monasteries,  the  rule  of  Saint  Benedict  ofTcrs  a  singular 
mixture  of  despotisri  and  liberty.  Passive  obedience,  as  you 
have  just  seen,  is  its  fundamental  principle ;  at  the  satne  time 
the  government  is  elective  ;  the  abbot  is  always  chosen  by 
the  brothers.  When  once  this  choice  is  made,  they  lose  all 
liberty,  they  fall  under  the  absolute  dominion  of  their  su- 
perior, but  of  the  superior  whom  they  have  elected,  and  of 
no  other. 

Moreover,  in  imposing  obedience  on  the  monks,  the  rule 
orders  that  tl)e  abbot  consult  them.  Chapter  III.,  entitled 
That  the  advice  of  the  brothers  7nust  be  taken,  expressly  says: 

"  Whenever  anything  of  importance  is  to  take  place  in  the 
monastery,  let  the  abbot  convoke  the  whole  congregation, 
fin  1  say  what  the  question  is,  and  after  having  heard  the 


Reg.  S.  Bened.,  c.  58 


298  HISTORY    OF 

advice  of  the  brothers,  he  shall  think  of  it  apart,  and  shall  do 
as  appears  to  him  most  suitable.  We  say  call  all  the  brolhera 
to  the  council,  because  God  often  reveals  by  the  youngoet 
what  is  most  valuable.  Let  the  brothers  give  their  advico 
in  all  submission,  and  let  them  not  venture  to  defend  it  ob- 
stinately ;  let  the  affair  depend  upon  the  will  of  the  abbot, 
and  let  all  obey  wimt  he  thinks  beneficial.  But  as  it  is  suit- 
able  that  the  disciple  should  obey  the  master,  so  it  is  desira- 
ble that  the  latter  should  regulate  all  things  with  prudence 
and  justice.  Let  the  rule  be  followed  in  everything,  and  let 
no  one  dare  to  break  it. 

"  If  trifling  things  are  to  be  done  in  the  interior  of  the 
monastery,  let  them  take  the  advice  of  the  ancients   alone." 

Thus  in  this  singular  government,  election,  deliberation, 
and  absolute  power  were  coexistent. 

5.  The  chapters  which  treat  of  various  subjects  have 
nothing  remarkable,  except  a  character  of  good  sense  and 
mildness,  which  is  also  seen  in  many  other  parts  of  the  rule 
and  with  which  it  is  im[x)ssib!e  not  to  be  struck.  The  moral 
thought  and  general  discipline  of  it  are  severe  ;  but,  in  the 
details  of  life,  it  is  humane  and  moderate ;  more  humane, 
more  moderate  than  the  Roman  law,  than  the  barbaric  laws, 
than  the  general  manners  of  the  times.  I  do  not  doubt  but 
that  the  brothers,  confined  within  a  monastery,  were  governed 
by  an  authority  upon  the  whole  more  reasonable,  and  in  a 
manner  less  severe,  than  they  would  ha/e  been  in  civil 
society. 

Saint  Benedict  was  so  impressed  with  the  necessity  for  a 
mild  and  moderate  rule,  thattiie  preface  which  he  has  annexed 
to  it  finishes  with  these  words  : 

"  We  wish  thus  to  institute  a  school  for  the  service  of  the 
Lord,  and  we  hope  we  have  not  put  into  this  institution  any- 
thing harsh  or  painful ;  but  if,  after  the  council  of  equity, 
anything  for  the  correction  of  vice,  or  maintenance  of  charity, 
is  found  in  it  which  is  rather  toe  harsh,  do  not,  alarmed  at 
that,  flee  the  path  of  salvation ;  at  its  commencement  it  is 
always  narrow  ;  but  by  the  progress  of  a  regular  life,  and 
faith,  the  heart  dilates,  and  runs  with  an  ineffable  sweetness 
into  the  way  of  God's  commandments." 

It  was  in  528  that  Saint  Benedict  gave  forth  his  rule  :  in 
513,  the  time  of  his  death,  it  had  already  spread  into  all  parts 
of  Furope.  Saint  Plaeidus  carried  it  into  Sicily,  others  into 
Spain.     Saint  Maurus,  the  cherished  disciple  of  Saint  Bene< 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE  290 

diet,  I'nlroduccfl  it  into  France.  At  the  rrqijcst  of  Innocent, 
bishop  of  Mans,  he  set  out  from  Mount  Cassino  at  the  end  of 
the  year  542,  while  Saint  Benedict  still  lived.  When  he 
arrived  at  Orleans,  in  513,  Saint  Benedict  no  longer  lived, 
but  the  institution  did  not  the  less  pursue  its  course.  The 
first  monastery  founded  by  Saint  Maur  was  that  of  Glanfeuil, 
in  Anjou,  or  Saint  Maur-sur-Loire.  At  the  end  of  the  sixth 
century,  the  greater  part  of  the  French  monasteries  had 
ariopted  the  same  rule ;  it  had  become  the  general  system  of 
the  monastic  order,  so  that  towards  the  end  of  the  eighth 
century,  Charlemagne  caused  it  to  be  asked  in  the  various 
parts  of  his  empire,  if  there  existed  any  other  kind  of  monks 
than  those  of  the  order  of  Saint  Benedict? 

We  have  as  yet  not  studied  more  than  half,  so  to  speak,  of 
the  revolutions  of  the  monastic  institutions  at  this  epoch,  their 
internal  revolutions,  the  changes  in  the  regime  and  legislation 
of  monasteries,  their  relations  on  the  one  hand  with  the  state, 
on  the  other  with  the  clergy,  their  situation  in  civil  society, 
and  in  ecclesiastical  society.  This  will  form  the  subject  of 
our  next  lecture. 


800  HISTORY   UF 


FIFTEENTH  LECTURE. 

The  lelations  of  the  monks  with  the  clergy,  from  the  fourth  to  the 
eighth  century — Tlieir  primitive  independence — Causes  of  Its  de- 
cline— 1.  In  proportion  as  the  number  and  the  power  of  the  monke 
were  augmented,  tlie  bishops  extended  their  jurisdiction  over  them 
— Canons  of  tlie  councils — 2.  The  monks  demand  and  obtain  privi- 
legus — 3.  They  aspire  to  enter  into  the  clergy — Differences  ancl  con 
tests  among  the  monks  themselves  upon  this  subject — The  bishopt 
at  first  repulse  their  pretensions — They  give  way  to  them — In  en- 
'Rring  into  the  clergy  the  monks  lose  their  independence — Tyrannj 
of  the  bishops  over  the  monasteries — Resistance  of  the  monks- 
Charters  granted  by  th<-  oishops  to  some  monasteries — The  monkf 
have  recourse  to  the  .otection  of  the  kings,  to  that  of  the  popes- 
Character  and  lim-  ,  of  the  intervention — Similarity  between  the 
struggle  of  the  m-  .lasteries  against  the  bishops  and  that  of  the  com- 
mons against  tlu  feudal  lords. 

We  have  studied  the  internal  system  of  monasteries  from 
the  fourth  to  the  eighth  century  ;  at  present  let  us  occupy  our- 
selves with  tiieir  external  condition  in  the  church  in  general, 
with  tiieir  relations  witli  tlie  clergy. 

As  people  have  been  deceived  as  to  the  internal  state  and 
system  of  monasteries,  by  forgetting  the  primitive  ciiaracter 
of  monks,  wlio  were  at  first  laymen  and  not  ecclesiastics,  so 
have  they  been  greatly  deceived  concerning  tiieir  situation  in 
the  church,  by  forgetting  tiieir  equally  primitive  character, 
which  was  liberty,  independence. 

The  foundation  of  a  great  number  of  monasteries  belonged 
to  an  epoch,  when  the  monks  were  already,  and  for  a  long 
time  liad  been,  incorporated  with  the  clergy ;  many  were 
founded  by  a  patron,  lay  or  ecclesiastical,  sometimes  a  bishop, 
sometimes  a  king,  or  a  great  nobleman ;  and  we  see  them, 
from  tiieir  very  origin,  subject  to  an  authority  to  wliich  they 
owp.d  tiieir  existence. 

It  is  supposed  tliat  it  had  always  been  thus,  that  all  the  mo- 
nasteries  had  been  the  creation  of  some  will  foreign  and  supe- 
rior to  that  of  the  congregation  itself,  and  which,  more  or  less, 
had  retained  its  influence.  This  is  entirely  to  overlook  the 
orimitive  situation  of  these  establishments,  and  the  true  mode 
U  their  formation. 

The  first  monasteries  were  not  founded  bv  any  one, — they 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  301 

founded  themselves.  They  were  not,  as  at  a  later  period, 
the  pious  work  of  some  rich  and  powerful  man  who  was  de- 
sirous of  building  an  edifice,  joining  a  church  to  it,  endowing 
it,  and  calling  other  men  to  it,  in  order  that  they  might  there 
lead  a  religious  life.  The  monastical  associations  formed 
themselves  spontaneously,  among  equals,  by  the  impulsive 
movement  of  soul,  and  without  any  other  aim  than  that  of 
satisfying  it.  The  monks  preceded  the  monastery,  its  edifices, 
its  churcli,  its  endowment ;  they  united,  each  of  his  own  will, 
nnd  on  his  own  account,  without  depending  upon  any  one  be- 
yond, as  free  as  tlicy  were  disinterested. 

In  meeting,  they  naturally  found  themselves,  in  all  that  re- 
lated  to  manners,  to  doctrines,  to  religious  practices,  placed 
under  the  inspection  of  the  bishops.  The  secular  clergy  ex. 
isted  before  the  monasteries ;  it  was  organized  ;  it  had  rights, 
a  recognized  authority  ;  the  monks  were  subject  to  il,  like 
other  Christians.  The  moral  and  religious  life  of  the  faithful 
was  the  object  of  episcopal  inspection  and  censure  ;  that  of 
tiie  iTionks  was  in  the  same  case :  the  bishop  was  not  invested 
with  any  jurisdiction  with  regard  to  them,  with  any  particu- 
lar authority ;  they  were  in  the  general  condition  of  the 
laity — living,  however,  in  great  independence,  electing  their 
superiors,  administering  the  property  which  they  possessed 
in  coinmon,  without  any  obligation  to  any  one,  without  any 
burden  upon  any  one,  governing  themselves,  in  a  word,  as 
they  cliose. 

Their  indepondcncc,  and  the  analogy  between  their  situa- 
tion and  the  rest  of  the  laity  was  such,  that  they  had  no  par- 
ticular  church,  for  instance,  no  churcli  attached  to  their 
monastery,  no  priest  who  celebrated  Divine  service  for  them 
especially  ;  they  went  to  the  church  of  the  neighboring  city 
or  parish,  like  all  the  faithful,  united  to  the  mass  of  the  popu- 
lation. 

This  was  the  primitive  state  of  the  monasteries,  the  start- 
ing point  of  their  relations  with  the  clergy.  They  did  not 
long  remain  there :  many  causes  soon  concurred  to  change 
their  independence,  and  unite  them  more  intimately  with  the 
ecclesiastical  corporation.  Let  us  attempt  to  recognize  them, 
and  to  mark  the  various  degrees  of  their  transition. 

The  number  and  power  of  the  monks  continually  increased 
When  I  say  power,  I  speak  of  their  influence,  their  moral 
action  on  the  public :  for  power,  properly  so  called,  legal,, 
constituted  power,  the  monks  were  entirely  without :  but  theil 


302  HISTORY    OF 

influence  was  daily  more  visible  and  more  strong.  For  Ihis 
reason  alone,  they  attracted  a  more  assiduous  and  attentive 
inspection  on  the  part  of  the  bishops,  The  clergy  very  quick- 
ly understood  that  it  had  in  them,  either  formidable  rivals,  oi 
useful  instruments.  They  applied  themselves,  therefore,  al 
an  early  period,  to  confine  them,  and  to  make  use  of  them 
Tiie  ecclesiastical  history  of  the  fifth  century  attests  the 
continual  efforts  of  the  bishops  to  extend  and  to  confirm  their 
jurisdiction  over  the  monks.  The  general  inspection  which 
they  had  a  right  to  exercise  over  all  the  faithful,  furnisluJ 
them  with  a  thousand  occasions  and  means.  The  very  liber- 
ty enjoyed  by  the  monks  lent  them  aid,  for  it  gave  rise  to  many 
disorders  J  and  the  episcopal  authority  was,  of  all  others,  most 
naturally  called  upon  to  interfere  for  their  repression.  It  in- 
terposed, therefore,  and  the  acts  of  the  councils  of  the  fifth 
century  abound  in  canons,  whose  only  object  is  to  confirm  and 
establish  the  jurisdiction  of  the  bisliops  over  monasteries. 
Tlie  most  fundamental  is  a  canon  of  the  oecumenical  council 
held  at  Chalcedonia,  in  451,  and  which  enacts: 

"  Those  who  have  sincerely  and  really  embraced  the  soli- 
tary life  shall  be  suitably  honored ;  but  as  some,  under  the 
appearance  and  name  of  monks,  disturb  civil  and  ecclesiasti- 
cal affairs,  overrunning  towns,  and  attempting  even  to  insti- 
tute monasteries  for  themselves,  it  has  pleased  us  to  order  that 
no  one  build  or  found  a  monastery  without  the  consent  of  the 
bishop. 

"  Monks,  in  every  city  or  district,  shall  be  subject  to  the 
bishop,  remain  tranquil,  only  apply  themselves  to  fastings  and 
prayer,  and  remain  in  ths  place  where  they  have  renounced 
the  world.  Let  them  not  meddle  with  ecclesiastical  and  civil 
affairs,  and  interfere  in  nothing  out  of  doors,  and  not  quit 
their  monasteries,  unless,  for  some  necessary  work,  it  be  so 
ordered  by  the  bishop  of  the  city.'" 

This  text  proves  that,  hitherto,  the  greater  part  of  the  mo- 
nasteries were  freely  founded  by  the  monks  themselves ;  but 
this  fact  was  already  considered  as  an  abuse,  and  the  authori- 
ty  of  the  bishop  was  formally  required.  Its  necessity,  in 
fact,  became  a  law,  and  we  read  in  the  canons  of  the  council 
of  Agde,  held  in  506  : 

"  We  forbid  that  new  monasteries  be  founded  without  lh< 
Ct>nsent  of  the  bishop.'" 

In  511,  the  council  of  Orleans  orders  : 

'  Council  of  Chalcedonia,  in  451,  c   4.  '  Ib.,c.  58 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  303 

"Let  the  abbots,  acconiing  to  tbe  humility  which  is  suito. 
Die  to  the  religious  life,  be  subject  to  the  power  of  the  bishops; 
RUfl  if  they  do  anytbing  against  the  rule,  let  tlicm  be  repri- 
manded  by  the  bishops  ;  and  being  convoked,  they  shall  meet 
once  a  year  in  the  place  chosen  by  the  bishop.'" 

Here  the  bishop  goes  further,  he  makes  himself  the  ruling 
minister  even  in  the  interior  of  monasteries;  it  was  not  from 
him  that  they  held  it ;  he  was  not  the  monastical  legislative 
power;  but  he  took  the  right  of  surveying  the  execution  of 
the  law  there. 

The  same  council  adds :  "  Let  no  monk,  abandoning, 
through  ambition  or  vanity,  the  congregation  of  the  monas- 
tery, dare  to  construct  a  separate  cell  without  the  permission 
of  the  bisliop,  or  tbe  consent  of  the  abbot. '"^ 

New  progress  of  the  episcopal  authority  :  hermits,  ancho- 
rites, recluses,  attracted   more  admiration   and   popular  favor 
than  the  cenobites ;  the   most   zealous   monks   were   always 
disposed  to  quit  the  interior  of  the  monasteries  in  order  to 
give  themselves   up    to   these    proud    austerities.      For  some 
time  no  authority  interfered  to    prevent  it,  not  even  that  of 
the  abbot ;  you  now  see  the  repressive  power  sanctioned,  not 
only  that  of  the   abbot,  but  of  the  bishop  ;   he,  too,  charged 
both  with  keeping  the  monks  within  the  interior  of  the  house, 
and  with  repressing  the  external  efTects  of  exaltation. 
In  3.52,  a  new  council  of  Orleans  decrees : 
"  Let  abbots  who  slight  the  orders  of  the  bishops,  not  be 
admitted,  unless  they  humbly  retract  this  rebellion.'" 
And  a  year  afterwards  : 

"  Let  the  monastery  and  the  discipline  of  monks  be  under 
♦he  authority  of  the  bishop  of  the  district  in  which  they  are 
situated. 

"  Let  it  not  be  permitted  to  abbots  to  go  far  from  their  mo- 
nastery without  the  permission  of  the  bishop.  If  they  do  so, 
let  them  be  regularly  corrected  by  their  bishop,  according  to 
the  ancient  canons. 

"Let  the  bishops  take  under  their  caienurneries  established 
•n  their  city  ;  and  let  them  not  allow  any  abbess  to  do  aught 
against  the  rule  of  her  monastery."^ 

When  all  these  rules  were  proclaimed,  although  they  did 


•  Coun.  of  Chalcedonia,  in  451,  c.  19.     *  Coun.  of  Orleans,  r.  22. 
Ib..c.  22  *  lb.,  inSr.'t,  c.  1,2,3.5 


804  HISTORY    OF 

not  contain  anything  very  precise,  although,  as  you  see,  (he 
'urisdiction  of  the  bishops  was  not  exactly  determined,  still 
it  was  established  ;  it  interfered  in  the  principal  points  of  the 
existence  of  the  monks,  in  the  foundation  of  monasteries,  in 
the  observation  of  their  discipline,  in  the  duties  of  the  abbots  ^ 
and,  recognized  in  principle,  although  often  repulsed  in  fact, 
it  strengthened  itself  by  exercise. 

The  monks  themselves  concurred  to  its  progression.  When 
ihey  had  acquired  more  importance,  they  claimed  a  separate 
existence.  They  complained  of  being  assimilated  with  the 
simple  laity,  and  confounded  with  the  mass  of  the  faithful ; 
they  desired  to  be  established  as  a  distinct  corporation,  a  pt  ti- 
tive  institution.  Independence  and  influence  were  not  sufH- 
cient  for  them — privilege  was  necessary.  Now,  from  whom 
could  they  obtain  it,  except  from  the  clergy  ?  The  authority 
of  the  bishops  could  alone  constitute  them  separate  from  the 
religious  society  in  general,  and  privilege  them  in  its  bosom. 
They  demanded  these  privileges,  and  obtained  them,  but  by 
paying  for  them.  There  was  one,  for  instance,  very  simple, 
that  of  not  going  to  the  church  of  the  parish,  of  constructing 
one  in  the  interior  of  the  monastery,  and  there  celebrating 
divine  service.  They  granted  it  to  them  without  difliculty  ; 
but  it  was  necessary  that  priests  should  do  duty  in  these 
churches  ;  now  the  monks  were  not  priests,  and  had  not  the 
right  of  doing  duty.  They  gave  them  priests,  and  the  exter- 
nal clergy  from  that  time  had  a  place  in  the  interior  of  mo- 
nasteries ;  men  were  there  sent  from  it  as  delegates,  inspect- 
ors. By  this  fact  alone,  the  independence  of  the  monks 
already  endured  a  serious  blow :  they  saw,  and  attempted  to 
remedy,  the  evil  ;  they  demanded  that  instead  of  priests  sent 
from  without,  the  bishop  should  ordain  some  monks  priests. 
The  clergy  consented  to  it,  and  under  the  name  of  hiero. 
monachi,  the  monasteries  had  priests  chosen  from  out  of  theii 
own  body.  They  were  rather  less  strangers  than  those  who 
came  from  without,  but  still  they  belonged  to  the  secular 
clergy,  took  its  spirit,  associatbJ  themselves  with  its  interests, 
separated  themselves  more  or  less  from  their  brothers  ;  and 
by  this  simple  distinction,  established  between  the  simple 
monks  and  the  priests,  between  those  who  were  present  at 
Ihc  service,  and  those  who  performed  it,  the  monastic  insti 
;iition  already  lost  part  of  its  independence  and  of  its  homo 
soneity. 

The  loss  was  so  real  that  more  than  one  superior  of  a  mo 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  805 

nasfery,  more  .han  one  abbot  perceived  it,  and  attempted  to 
repair  it,  at  least  to  limit  it.  The  rules  of  many  monastic 
orders  speak  of  priests  established  in  the  monastery  with  dis 
trust,  and  apply  themselves  sometimes  to  restrain  their  num. 
ber,  sometimes  the  influence  of  them. 

Saint  Benedict,  in  his,  formally  inserted  two  chapters  nn  thir 
subject : 

"  If  an  abbot,"  says  he,  "  wishes  to  have  a  priest  or  a  dea- 
con  ordained  for  him,  let  him  select  from  among  his  people 
one  who  is  worthy  to  perform  the  sacerdotal  functions.  Bui 
let  him  who  is  ordained  guard  against  all  pride,  and  let  him 
not  contend  against  anything  which  shall  be  enjoined  him  by 
the  abbot  ;  let  him  know  that  he  is  even  more  subject  to  the 
regular  discipline  than  any  other ;  that  the  priesthood  is  not  a 
reason  for  him  to  forget  obedience  and  rule;  but  let  him  more 
and  more  advance  in  God,  and  always  keep  to  the  functions 
by  which  he  entered  into  the  monastery,  except  the  duties  of 
the  altar,  when  even,  by  choice  of  the  congregation,  and  the 
will  of  the  abbot,  he  shall  be,  by  reason  of  the  merits  of  his 
life,  raised  to  a  more  elevated  rank.  Let  him  know  that  he 
must  observe  the  rule  established  by  the  deans  and  priors ; 
that  if  he  dare  to  act  otherwise,  he  shall  not  be  judged  as  a 
priest  but  as  a  rebel.  And  if,  after  having  been  frequently 
warned,  he  does  not  correct  himself,  let  the  bishop  himself  be 
called  as  witness.  If  he  do  not  amend,  and  his  faults  be 
glaring,  let  him  be  driven  from  the  monastery,  in  case  he 
will  not  still  submit,  nor  obey  the  rule.'" 

"  If  any  one  of  the  order  of  priests  ask  to  be  received  into 
the  monastery,  let  it  not  be  immediately  consented  to  ;  if  he 
persist  in  his  request,  let  him  know  that  he  shall  submit  to 
the  whole  discipline  and  rule,  and  that  nothing  shall  be  abated 
him."" 

This  rather  jealous  fear,  this  vigilance  to  repress  the  arro- 
gance  of  priests,  to  subject  them  to  the  life  of  monks,  was 
also  manifested  elsewhere,  and  by  other  symptoms  ;  they  only 
the  better  prove  the  progress  of  the  external  clergy  in  the 
inferior  of  monasteries,  and  the  danger  in  which  it  placed 
their  ancient  independence. 

it  had  to  submit  to  an  entirely  different   check.     Not   con.* 
ten'  with    being   separated    from   the   lay  society,  and   being 


'  Reg.  S.  Bened.,  c.  62.  »  lb,,  c.  60 


fiOO  HISTORY    OF 

raised  above  it  by  their  privileges,  the  monks  conceived  tho 
ambition  of  entering  fully  into  the  ecclesiastical  society,  ol 
participating  in  the  privileges  and  power  of  the  clergy.  Tlii^ 
ambition  was  shown  in  the  monastical  institution  at  a  very 
early  period.  It  was  not  approved  of  by  all.  The  exalted 
and  austere  monks,  those  whose  imagination  was  strong  ly 
filled  with  the  holiness  of  the  monastic  life,  and  aspired  to  all 
its  glories,  were  averse  to  receiving  the  sacred  orders.  Sonio 
legarded  the  clerical  as  a  worldly  life,  which  deterred  th'^m 
from  the  contemplation  of  divine  things  j  tlie  others  ihoug  il 
themselves  unworthy  of  the  priesthood,  and  did  not  find  tliem« 
selves  in  a  sufficiently  perfect  state  to  celebrate  divine  ser 
vice.  Hence  arose  some  singular  incidents  in  the  relations 
between  the  monks  and  the  clergy.  In  the  fourth  century, 
while  Saint  Epiphanus  was  bishop  in  the  island  of  Cyprus, 
there  was  a  monk  in  the  island  named  Puulinianus,  celebrated 
for  his  virtues,  and  in  great  reputation  for  sanctity.  They 
frequently  proposed  making  him  a  priest ;  he  always  de- 
clined, saying  that  he  was  not  worthy  of  it ;  but  Saint  Epi 
phanus  positively  insisted  upon  consecrating  him.  He  pro- 
ceeded in  the  following  manner:  it  is  himself  who  gives  the 
account  : 

"  When  they  celebrated  mass  in  the  church  of  a  village  near 
our  monastery,  without  his  being  aware  of  it,  or  in  the  least 
expecting  it,  we  had  him  seized  by  a  number  of  deacons,  and 
had  his  mouth  held,  for  fear  that,  wishing  to  escape,  he  should 
adjure  us  in  the  name  of  Christ.  We  at  first  ordained  him 
deacon,  and  summoned  him,  by  the  fear  he  had  for  God,  to 
fulfil  tlie  ofl[ice.  He  strongly  resisted,  maintaining  that  he 
was  unworthy.  It  was  almost  necessary  to  force  him,  for  we 
had  great  difiiculty  in  persuading  him  by  testimonies  of  the 
Writmiis,  and  in  citing  the  commands  of  God.  And  when  he 
had  performed  the  duties  of  deacon  in  the  holy  sacrifice,  we 
again  had  his  mouth  held,  with  great  difficulty  ;  we  ordained 
him  priest,  and  for  the  same  reasons  which  we  had  already 
impressed  upon  him,  we  decided  him  to  take  a  place  among 
the  priests.'" 

They  rarely  came  to  such  violent  extremities ;  but  I  might 
•site  many  other  examples  of  monks  who  were  sincerely  re. 
DUguant  to  becoming  priests,  and  obstinately  refused. 


Suiiil  Epiphanus,  lett.  to  John,  bishop  of  Jerusalem,  vol.  ii  ,  n  312 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  M07 

Such,  however,  was  far  from  being  their  general  character. 
The  greater  part  were  very  anxious  to  enter  into  orders,  iht 
the  clergy  was  the  superior  hody  :  to  be  received  into  its  bo- 
som  was  to  be  raised.  "  If  the  desire  to  become  a  priest  ex- 
cite  you,"  says  Saint  .lerome  to  a  mon!<,  "  learn,  that  you  may 
1)0  able  to  teach  ;  protend  not  to  be  a  soldier  without  having 
been  a  militiaman,  and  a  master  before  having  been  a  discf- 
pie.'"  In  fact,  the  desire  to  become  priests  so  keenly  excited 
the  monks,  that  Cassienus  ranks  it  among  the  temptations  with 
which  the  demon  pursued  them,  and  especially  among  those 
which  he  attributes  to  the  demon  of  vain-glory. 

"Sometimes,"  says  he,  "the  demon  of  vain-glory  inspires 
a  monk  with  a  desire  for  the  degrees  of  the  clergy,  the  priest- 
hood, or  the  dcaconship.  According  to  liim,  if  ho  l)c  invested 
with  it,  despite  himself,  he  will  fill  the  duties  with  so  much 
rigor,  that  he  might  offer  examples  of  holiness  even  to  other 
priests,  and  might  gain  many  people  over  to  the  church,  not 
only  by  his  admirable  way  of  living,  but  by  his  doctrine  and 
discourses."'^  And  he  relates  the  following  anecdote  upon  this 
subject— a  singular  proof,  truly,  of  the  passion  with  which 
certain  monks  aspired  to  become  priests,  and  of  the  empire 
which  this  desire  possessed  over  their  imagination  : — 

"I  remember,"  says  he,  "that  during  my  stay  in  the  soli- 
tude of  Scythia,  an  old  man  told  me,  that  going  one  day  to  the 
cell  of  a  certain  brother,  to  visit  him,  as  he  approached  the 
door,  he  heard  him  within  pronouncing  certain  words;  he 
stopped  a  little,  wishing  to  know  what  he  read  of  the  Scrip- 
ture, or  else  what  he  repeated  from  memory,  according  to 
usage.  And  as  this  pious  spy  curiously  listened,  with  his  ear 
at  the  door,  he  perceived  that  the  spirit  of  vain-glory  tempted 
the  brother,  for  he  spoke  as  if  he  addressed  a  sermon  to  the 
people  in  the  church.  The  old  man  still  stopped,  and  he 
heard  that  the  brother,  after  having  finished  his  sermon, 
changed  his  office,  and  did  the  duties  of  deacon  at  the  mass 
of  the  catechumens.  He  at  last  knocked  at  the  door,  and  the 
brother  came  to  meet  him  with  his  accustomed  veneration, 
nnd  inlioQUced  him  into  his  cell.  Then,  raliier  troubled  in  his 
conscience  at  the  thoughts  which  had  occi  pied  him,  he  askeo 
mm  how  long  he  had  been  there,  fearing,  without  doubt,  tha; 


Saint  Jerome,  lett.  4,  ad.  Rusticum. 
«  Ca.'^aienug,  de  Canob   inst.,  xi.,  14. 
40 


BUS  HISTOHV'    OF 

he  liad  insulted  him  hy  keeping  him  waiting  at  liie  door  j  and 
tiie  old  man  answered,  smiling :  '  I  arrived  just  as  you  cele- 
brated  the  mass  of  the  catechumens.'  '" 

Of  a  surety  men  preoccupied  to  such  a  degree  by  such  a 
desire,  would  unhesitatingly  have  sacrificed 'their  independ- 
ence to  it.  Let  us  see  how  ihey  attained  their  end,  and  what 
result  this  success  had  for  them. 

The  clergy  at  first  looked  upon  the  ambition  of  the  monks 
with  a  good  deal  of  jealou;y  and  distrust.  At  the  fourth  cen- 
tury, some  bisliops,  more  vigorous  and  discerning  than  otliers, 
or  with  some  particular  end  in  view,  received  them  favorably. 
Saint  Athanasius,  for  example,  bishop  of  Alexandria,  engaged 
in  his  great  contest  against  the  Arians,  visited  the  monasteries 
of  Egypt,  loaded  the  monks  with  distinction,  and  selected 
many  to  ordain  as  priests,  and  even  to  make  bishops  of.  The 
monks  were  orthodox,  eager,  popular.  Athanasius  saw  that 
in  them  he  should  have  powerful  and  devoted  allies.  His 
example  was  followed  by  some  bishops  in  the  west,  especially 
by  Saint  Ambrose  at  Milan,  and  by  Euscbius,  bishop  of  Ver- 
ceil.  But  the  episcopacy  in  general  behaved  difierently :  it 
continued  to  treat  tiie  pretensions  of  the  monks  coldly,  scorn- 
fully, and  to  combat  them  underhand.  Proofs  of  it  are  in 
writing  down  to  the  seventh  century.  At  the  end  of  tiie 
fourth,  for  example,  the  bishop  of  Rome,  Saint  Siricius  (384 
— 398),  allowed  holy  orders  to  be  conferred  upon  them,  but 
with  many  stipulations,  lest  too  large  a  number  of  monks 
should  penetrate  into  the  clergy.  In  the  middle  of  the  fullow. 
ing  century,  Saint  Leo  (440 — 460)  engaged  Maximus,  patri- 
arch of  Antioch,  not  too  easily  to  allow  permission  to  preach 
to  the  monks  of  his  diocese,  even  to  the  most  holy,  because 
their  preaching  might  have  serious  consequences  for  the  influ- 
ence of  the  clergy.  At  the  end  of  the  sixth  century.  Saint 
Gregory  the  Great  recommended  the  bishops  to  ordain  monks 
as  parish-priests  but  rarely,  and  to  employ  them  with  reserve. 
Upon  the  whole,  amidst  even  the  favors  which  it  exliibits  to- 
wards them,  the  episcopacy  always  sliows  itself  jealous  of  the 
monks,  and  inclined  to  separate  them  from  the  clergy. 

But  the  progress  of  their  popularity  surmounted  this  sccrel 
resistance.  It  was  soon  acknowledged  that  theirs,  of  all 
lives,  was  the  Christian  life;  that  it  surpassed  in  merit  tiial 


'  Cassienus,  de  Canob.  inst.,xi.,  15 


CIVIMZATION    IN    FRANCE.  8()U 

of  the  external  clergy,  who  could  not  do  better  than  imitate 
'hem  ;  and  that  a  priest,  or  even  a  bishop,  in  becoming  a 
monk,  advanced  in  the  paths  of"  holiness  and  salvation.  The 
councils  themselves,  composed  of  bishops,  proclaimed  these 
maxims  : — 

"  If  priests,"  says  a  council  of  Toledo,  "  desiring  to  follow 
n  better  life,  wish  to  embrace  the  rule  of  the  monl<s,  let  the 
bishop  give  them  free  access  into  the  monasteries,  and  in  no 
way  obstruct  the  design  of  those  who  wish  to  give  themselves 
up  to  contemplation.'" 

When  they  were  generally  recognized,  there  was  no  longer 
any  means  of  resisting  the  invasion  of  the  monks,  nor  of  pai. 
siiTioniously  granting  them  the  priesthood  and  episcopacy.  At 
;he  coinmenccinent  of  the  seventh  century,  Boniface  IV.  pro- 
claims  that  they  are  plus  quam  idonei,  more  than  fitted  for  all 
the  functions  of  the  clergy  ;  and  gradually  events  and  minds 
progressed  in  this  direction  ;  the  monks  found  themselves  in- 
corporated in  the  clergy  ;  and,  while  preserving  a  distinct 
existence,  associated  on  every  occasion  with  its  privileges  and 
power.  It  is  impossible  to  determine  exactly  the  date  of  this 
admission  ;  it  was  progressive  and,  for  a  long  time,  incomplete  ; 
even  in  the  eighth  century,  the  monks  were  at  times  still 
called  laymen,  and  considered  as  such.  Still  it  may  be  said 
that,  about  the  end  of  the  sixth  and  at  the  beginning  of  the 
seventh  century,  the  revolution  for  which  they  had  labored 
from  the  end  of  the  fourth  century  was  consummated.  Let 
U3  see  what  were  the  results  of  it,  ns  regards  their  external 
condition — what  was  the  condition  of  the  monks  in  the  clergy 
when  they  decidedly  formed  a  part  of  it. 

It  is  evident  that  they  must  have  lost  there  a  great  deal  of 
independence,  and  that  the  authority  of  the  bishops  over 
monasteries  was  necessarily  extended  and  confirmed.  You 
know  what  the  power  of  the  episcopacy  was  over  parish  priest8 
from  the  seventh  to  the  eighth  century.  The  fortune  of  monkg 
was  no  better.  Those  little  associations  which  we  have  jus{ 
seen  so  independent,  over  which  the  bishops  had  scarcely  a 
moral  jurisdiction,  which  they  labored  with  so  much  care  to 
draw  beneath  their  empire,  see  how  they  were  treated  at  the 
seventh  century.  I  shall  leave  the  councils  to  speak  for 
Mttusclves ; — 


'  Council  of  Toledo,  in  633.  c.  60. 


110  HISTORY    OF 

"  It  has  been  given  out  at  the  present  council  that  inonks^ 
oy  order  of  the  bishops,  are  subject  to  servile  labors,  and  that, 
against  the  canonical  orders,  the  rights  of  monasteries  are 
usurped  with  an  illegitimate  audacity  ;  so  that  a  monastery 
becomes  almost  a  domain,  and  that  illustrious  part  of  the 
body  of  Christ  is  almost  reduced  to  ignominy  and  servitule. 
We  therefore  warn  the  chiefs  of  the  churches  that  they  no 
longer  commit  anything  of  the  kind  ;  and  that  the  bishops  do 
nothing  in  monasteries  except  what  the  canons  direct  them ; 
that  is,  exhort  the  monks  to  a  holy  life,  appoint  tiie  abbota 
and  other  officers,  and  reform  such  things  as  shall  be  against 
rule.'" 

"  As  regards  presents  that  are  made  to  a  monastery,  let  not 
the  bishops  touch  tliem.'"^ 

"  A  most  deplorable  thing  there  is,  which  we  are  forced  to 
extirpate  by  a  severe  censure.  We  have  learnt  that  certain 
bishops  unjustly  establish  as  prelates  in  certain  monasteries 
some  of  their  relations  or  favorites,  and  procure  them  iniqui- 
tous advantages,  to  the  end  that  they  may  receive,  through 
them,  both  what  is  in  fact  regularly  due  to  the  bishop  of  the 
diocese,  and  all  that  the  violence  of  the  exactor  whom  they 
have  sent  can  seize  from  the  monasteries."* 

I  might  greatly  multiply  these  quotations  :  all  would  equally 
attest  that,  at  this  epoch,  the  monasteries  were  subjected  to  an 
odious  tyranny  on  the  part  of  the  bishops. 

They,  however,  had  means  of  resistance,  and  they  made  use 
of  them.  In  order  to  explain  the  nature  of  these  means  satis- 
factorily, allow  me  to  leave  the  monks  for  a  moment,  and  call 
your  attention  to  an  analogous  fact,  and  one  much  better 
known. 

Every  one  is  aware  that,  from  the  eighth  to  the  tenth  cen- 
tury,  the  cities,  large  or  small,  which  still  existed  in  Gaul, 
"vere  induced  to  enter  into  the  feudal  society,  to  assume  the 
characteristics  of  the  new  system,  to  take  a  place  in  its  hier- 
archy, to  contract  its  obligations  in  order  to  possess  its  rigiits, 
to  live  under  the  patronage  of  a  lord.  This  patronage  was 
h^rsh,  oppressive,  and  the  cities  impatiently  supported  ita 
weight.     At  a  very  early  period,  when  they  first  engaged  io 


•  Council  of  Toledo,  in  633,  c.  51 
'Coun.  of  Lerida,  in  524,  c.  3. 
«  Coun.  of  Toledo,  in  Gr)5.  c  3. 


CIVILIZAIION    IN    FRANCE.  ^1  I 

feudalism,  thoy  attempted  to  shake  it  ofT,  to  regain  some  inde- 
pendence.  What  were  their  means  ?  In  the  boroughs  there 
was  the  wreck  of  tlie  ancient  municipal  system :  in  theii 
miserable  condition,  they  still  selected  some  obscure  magis. 
trates :  some  property  remained  to  them ;  they  administered 
this  property  themselves  :  in  a  word,  they  preserved,  in  some 
respects,  an  existence  distinct  from  that  which  they  had  as- 
"umed  in  entering  the  feudal  society,  an  existence  which  was 
connected  with  institutions,  with  prir  :!iples.  and  with  a  social 
state,  all  of  them  entirely  difFerent.  These  /emains  of  their 
ancient  existence,  these  wrecks  of  the  municipal  system,  be- 
canje  the  fulcrum  by  the  aid  of  which  the  boroughs  struggled 
against  the  feudal  master  who  had  invaded  them,  and  pro- 
gressively regained  sone  degree  of  liberty. 

An  analogous  fact  was  brought  about  in  the  history  of  mo- 
nasteries, and  of  their  relations  with  the  clergy.  You  have 
just  seen  the  monks  entering  into  the  ecclesiastical  society, 
and  falling  under  the  authority  of  the  bishops,  as  the  commons 
entered  at  a  later  period  into  the  feudal  society,  and  fell  under 
the  authority  of  the  lords.  But  the  monks  also  retained  some 
of  their  primitive  existence,  of  their  original  independence ; 
for  example,  they  had  had  domains  given  them:  these  do- 
mains  were  not  confounded  with  those  of  the  bishop  in  whose 
diocese  the  monastery  was  situated  ;  they  were  not  lost  in  the 
mass  of  cliurch  property  of  which  the  bishop  had  the  sole  ad- 
ministration ;  they  remained  the  distinct  and  personal  proper, 
ty  of  each  establishment.  The  monks  accordingly  continued 
to  exercise  some  of  their  rights  ;  the  election  of  their  abbot 
and  other  monastic  affairs,  the  interior  administration  of  the 
monastery,  &c.  In  the  same  way,  therefore,  as  the  boroughs 
retain  some  wreck  of  the  municipal  system,  and  of  their  pro- 
perty, and  made  use  of  them  in  order  to  struggle  against  feu- 
dal  tyranny,  so  did  the  monks  preserve  som^  remnants  of  their 
internal  constitution  and  of  their  property,  and  made  use  of 
them  in  struggling  against  episcopal  tyranny.  So  that  the 
boroughs  followed  the  route  and  in  the  steps  of  the  monasteries  ; 
not  that  they  imitated  them,  but  because  the  same  situation  led 
to  the  same  results. 

Let  us  follow  in  its  vicissitudes  the  resistance  of  the  monks 
against  the  bishops  ;  we  shall  see  this  analogy  developed  more 
and  more. 

The  contest  was  at  first  limited  to  complaints,  to  protesta- 
lions,  carried  either  before  the  bishop  himself,  or  before  the 


612  HISTORY    OF 

souncils.  Sometimes  the  councils  received  Ihem,  and  iysued 
canons  to  put  a  stop  to  the  evil :  I  have  just  read  to  you  texts 
which  prove  it.  But  a  written  remedy  is  of  little  eflicacy. 
The  monks  felt  the  necessity  of  recurring  to  some  other  means. 
They  openly  resisted  their  bishop  j  they  refused  to  obey  his  in- 
junctions, to  receive  him  in  the  monastery  ;  more  than  once 
they  repulsed  his  envoys  by  force  of  arms.  Still  their  resist- 
ance weighed  heavily  upon  them;  the  bishop  excmmuni- 
cated  them,  interdicted  their  priests  :  the  stiuggle  was  griev- 
ous for  all.  They  treated.  The  monks  promised  to  resumt; 
order,  to  make  presents  to  the  bishop,  to  cede  to  him  some 
part  of  the  domain,  if  he  was  willing  to  promise  to  respect 
the  monasteiy  thenceforward,  not  to  pillage  their  property,  to 
leave  them  in  peaceful  enjoyment  of  their  rights.  The  bishop 
consented,  and  gave  a  charter  to  the  monastery.  They  are 
regular  charters,  these  immunities,  these  privileges  conferred 
upon  monasteries  by  their  bishop,  the  use  of  which  became 
so  frequent  that  we  find  an  ofiicial  compilation  of  them  in  the 
Formula  of  Marculf.  1  will  read  it :  you  will  be  struck  with 
the  character  of  these  acts  : 

"  To  the  holy  lord  and  brother  in  Christ,  the  abbot  of ■ 

or  to  the  whole  congregation  of monastery,  built  at 

by ,  in  honor  of  Saint ,  bishop, .     The 

love  which  we  bear  you  has  impelled  us,  by  Divine  inspiration, 
to  regulate  for  your  repose  things  which  assure  us  eternal  re- 
compense, and,  without  turning  us  from  the  right  road,  or 
overstepping  any  limit,  to  establish  rules  which  may  obtain 
by  the  aid  of  the  Lord  an  eternal  duration,  for  we  do  not 
insure  the  least  recompense  from  God  in  applying  ourselves 
to  what  must  come  to  pass  in  future  times,  without  giving 
succor  to  the  poor  in  the  present  time.  .  .  .  We  think  it  our 
duty  to  insert  in  this  sheet  what  you  and  your  successors 
should  do  with  the  assistance  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  rather 
that  to  which  the  bishop  of  the  holy  church  himself  is  bound  : 
namely,  that  those  of  your  congregation  who  are  to  exercise 
the  holy  services  in  your  monastery,  when  they  shall  be  |)re- 
sented  by  the  abbot  and  all  the,  congregation,  receive  from  us 
or  our  successors  the  sacred  orders,  without  making  any  gift 
for  this  honor  ;  that  the  said  bishop,  out  of  respect  for  the 
place,  and  without  receiving  any  recompense,  consecrate  the 
altar  of  the  monastery,  and  grant,  if  it  be  demanded  of  him, 
the  holy  oil  each  year  ;  and  when,  by  Divine  will,  one  abbot 
ihull  pass  from  the  monastery  to  God,  let  the  bishop  of  tho 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  313 

place,  without  expecting  recompense,  elevate  to  the  rank  of 
dbbot,  the  monk  most  remarkable  for  the  merits  of  his  life, 
wiiom  he  shall  find  selected  by  the  brethren.  And  let  then; 
lake  nothing  wjiich  has  been  ofTered  by  God-fearing  men  tc 
the  abbc3\  And  unless  requested  by  the  congregation  or  the 
abbot,  to  go  there  for  the  sake  of  prayer,  let  none  of  us  enter 
into  the  interior  of  a  monastery,  nor  overstep  its  enclosure. 
And  if,  after  having  been  begged  so  to  do  by  the  monks,  the 
bishop  come  for  the  purposes  of  prayer,  or  to  be  useful  to 
them  in  anything,  after  the  celebration  of  tiic  holy  mysteries, 
and  after  having  received  simple  and  brief  thanks,  let  him 
set  about  regaining  his  dwelling  witliout  being  required  so  to 
do  by  any  one,  so  that  the  luonks  who  are  accotmtcd  solita- 
ries may,  with  tlic  help  of  God,  pass  the  time  in  pcrf(;ct  tran- 
quillity, and  that,  living  under  a  holy  rule,  and  imitating  the 
holy  fathers,  they  may  the  more  perfectly  implore  God  for 
the  fjood  of  the  church,  and  the  salvation  of  the  country. 
And  if  any  monks  of  this  order  conduct  themselves  with  indif- 
ference,  and  not  as  they  should,  if  it  is  necessary  let  them  be 
corrected  according  to  rule  by  their  abbot ;  if  not,  the  bishop 
of  the  town  must  restrain  them,  in  order  that  the  canonical 
authority  be  deprived  of  nothing  which  tends  tb  the  repose 
of  the  servants  of  the  faith.  If  any  of  our  successors  (which 
God  forbid),  full  of  perfidy,  and  impelled  by  cupidity,  desire, 
in  a  spirit  of  audacity,  to  violate  the  things  herein  contained, 
overwhelmed  by  the  blow  of  divine  vengeance,  let  him  be 
anathematized  and  excluded  from  the  communion  of  the  bro- 
therhood for  three  years,  and  let  this  privilege  be  not  the  les-s 
eternally  immovable  for  nis  conduct.  In  order  that  this  con- 
stitution may  remain  always  in  vigor,  we  and  our  brothers, 
the  lords  bishops,  have  confirmed  it  with  our  signatures. 

"  Done,  this day  of the  year  of  our  Lord .'" 

When  we  come  to  the  history  of  the  commons,  you  will  see 
that  many  of  the  charters  which  they  wrested  from  their 
'ords,  seem  to  have  been  framed  upon  this  model. 

It  happened  to  the  monasteries  as  it  was  afterwards  to  hap- 
pen to  the  commons:  their  privileges  were  constantly  violated 
nr  altogether  abolished.  They  wore  obliged  to  have  recourse 
lO  a  hig'ier  guarantee,  and  they  invoked  that  of  the  king :  a 
nhtiirai  pretext  presented  itself;  the  kings  themselves  foundea 


»  Marculf.  b.  i.  f.  1. 


314  IIISTOBY   OF 

monasteries,  and  in  founding  them  took  some  precautions  fo; 
phielding  them  from  the  tyranny  of  the  bishops  ;  they  le. 
tained  them  under  tiieir  especial  protection,  and  prohibited  anj 
usurpation  cf  the  property  or  rights  of  the  monks  on  the  pari 
of  the  bishops.  Thus  originated  the  intervention  of  royalty 
between  the  monasteries  and  the  clergy.  By  and  bye,  monas- 
teries which  had  not  been  founded  by  kings  had  recourse  to 
their  protection,  and  attained  it  for  money  or  some  other  con- 
sideration. Tlie  kings  in  no  way  interfered  with  tlie  juris- 
diction of  the  bishops,  they  disputed  none  of  their  religious 
rights  ;  the  protection  accorded  by  them  had  exclusive  refer- 
ence to  monastic  property  ;  as  this  protection  was  more  or  less 
efficacious,  the  bishops  used  every  effort  to  elude  it  ;  the) 
refused  to  recognize  the  letters  of  protection  and  immunity 
granted  by  the  king  ;  sometimes  they  falsified  them  by  the 
assistance  of  some  treacherous  brother,  or  even  wholly  ab- 
stracted them  from  the  archives  of  the  monastery.  After  a 
while,  in  order  more  fully  to  possess  themselves  of  the  con- 
stantly augmenting  wealth  of  these  establishments,  they 
thought  of  another  plan:  they  procured  their  own  nomination 
as  abbots  of  the  more  valuable  monasteries:  an  opening  to 
this  encroachlnent  presented  itseif ;  many  monks  had  become 
bishops,  and  for  the  most  part,  bishops  of  the  diocese  in  which 
their  own  monastery  was  situated ;  in  this  monastery  they 
had  taken  care  to  keep  up  friends,  partizans  ;  and  the  post  of 
abbot  becoming  vacant, ,  frequently  found  no  difficulty  in 
securing  it  for  themselves.  Thus,  at  once  bishops  and  abbots, 
they  gave  themselves  up  without  restraint  to  the  most  mon- 
strous abuses.  The  monasteries  in  every  direction  were 
sorely  oppressed,  were  recklessly  despoiled  by  their  heads; 
the  monks  looked  around  for  a  new  protector,  they  addressed 
themselves  to  the  pope.  The  papal  power  had  keen  long 
strengthening  and  extending  itself,  and  it  eagerly  availed 
itself  of  every  opportunity  of  still  further  extending  itself;  \\ 
interposed  as  royalty  had  interposed,  keeping,  at  all  events 
for  a  long  time,  within  the  same  limits,  making  no  attempt  to 
narrow  the  spiritual  jurisdiction  of  the  bishops,  and  abridging 
them  of  no  s])iritual  right ;  apjjlying  itself  only  to  repreos 
their  aggressions  upon  property  and  persons,  and  to  maintain 
inviolate  the  established  monastic  rule.  The  privileges 
granted  by  the  popes  lo  certain  monasteries  of  Frankish-Gaul 
previously  to  the  commencement  of  the  eighth  century  kept 
strictly  witiiin  its  limi's,  in  no  case  removing  them  from  th« 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FnANCE.  816 

episcopal  to  the  papal  jurisdiction.  The  monastery  of  Fulda 
presents  us  with  the  first  instance  of  such  a  transfer,  and  tliis 
look  place  hy  tlie  consent  of  the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  Saint 
Boniface,  who  himself  placed  the  monastery  under  the  direct 
authority  of  the  holy  sec.  Tliis.is  the  first  instance  of  such 
a  proceeding  that  we  meet  with  ;  neither  popes  nor  kings  had 
ever  before  interfered,  except  for  the  purpose  of  keeping 
the   bishops  within  the  just  limits  of  their  authority. 

Sucli  were  the  changes  through  which,  in  tlie  interval  I 
have  described,  the  monastic  associations  passed,  in  their  re- 
lations with  the  clergy.  Their  original  condition  was  that  of 
independence ;  this  independence  was  lessened  the  moment 
that  they  obtained  from  the  clergy  some  of  the  privileges 
which  they  had  solicited  from  that  body.  The  privileges  so 
obtained,  only  served  to  augment  their  ambition  :  they  became 
bent  upon  entering  the  ecclesiastical  corporation  :  they  did 
enter  it,  after  a  while,  and  found  themselves  thenceforward 
subject,  like  the  priests,  to  the  ill-defined,  the  unlimited 
authority  of  the  bishops.  The  bishops  abused  their  authority, 
the  monasteries  resisted,  and  in  virtue  of  what  still  remained 
to  them  of  their  original  independence,  procured  guarantees, 
charters.  The  charters  being  slighted,  the  monks  had  recourse 
to  the  civil  authority,  to  royalty,  and  royalty  confirmed  the 
charters,  and  took  the  monks  under  its  protection.  This 
protection  proving  inadequate,  the  monks  next  addressed 
themselves  to  the  pope,  who  interposed  l)y  another  title,  but 
witiiout  any  more  decisive  success.  It  is  in  this  struggle  of 
ro'  al  and  papal  protection  against  episcopal  tyranny,  that  we 
lea.e  the  monasteries  in  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century. 
Under  the  Carlovingian  race,  they  had  to  experience  still 
more  terrible  shocks,  assaults  which  it  required  their  utmost 
efforts  to  overcome.  We  will  speak  of  these  at  the  propei 
time  ;  at  present,  the  analogy  between  the  history  of  the 
monasteries  and  that  of  the  commons,  which  manifested  itself 
two  centuries  later,  is  the  fact  which  most  peculiarly  calls  foi 
an  observation. 

We  have  now  completed  the  history  of  social  civilization, 
from  the  sixth  to  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century.  We  have 
gone  through  the  revolutions  of  ciyil  and  of  religious  society, — 
viewed  each  of  them  in  their  various  elements.  We  have 
still  to  study  the  history,  during  the  same  period,  of  purely 
intellectual  and  moral  civilization  ;  of  the  ideas  which  theu 


816  HISTORY    OF 


occupied  men's  minds,  the  works  which  these  ideas  gave 
to — in  a  word,  the  pliilosophical  and  literary  history  of  Fi 


birth 
'ranee 
at  this  epoch.     We  will  enter  upon  this  study  in  our  next 
lecture. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE  JiH 


SIXTEENTH  LECTURE. 

F:orr  the  sixf.'n  to  the  eighth  century  all  profane  literature  disappeaied 
^acred  litei-ature  alone  remained — This  is  evident  in  the  schools  and 
writings  of  this  epoch — 1.  Of  the  schools  in  Gaul  from  the  sixth  tc 
the  eighth  century — Cathedral  schools — Rural  schools — Mona3tic 
schools — What  they  taught  there — 2.  Of  the  writings  of  the  day- 
General  character  of  literature — It  ceased  to  be  speculative,  and  fa 
seek  more  especially  science  and  intellectual  enjoyments  ;  it  be- 
came jiractical ;  Isnowledgc,  clo(|uerico,  writings,  were  made  means 
of  action— Influence  of  tliis  characteristic  upon  the  idea  formed  of 
the  intellectual  state  at  this  epoch — It  produced  scarcely  any  works, 
it  has  no  literature  properly  so  called  ;  still  minds  were  active — Its 
literature  consists  in  sermons  and  legends — Bishops  and  missionaries 
— ]st.  Of  Saint  Cesaire,  bishop  of  Aries— Of  his  sermons — 2d.  Of 
Saint  Columban,  missionary,  and  abbot  of  Luxeuil — Character  of 
pacred  eloquence  at  this  epoch. 

In  studying  the  state  of  Gaul  at  the  fourth  and  fifth  cen- 
turies,'  we  found  two  literatures,  the  one  sacred,  the  other 
profane.  The  distinction  was  marked  in  persons  and  in 
things ;  the  laity  and  the  ecclesiastics  studied,  meditated, 
wrote ;  and  they  studied,  they  wrote,  they  meditated,  upon 
lay  suhjects,  and  upon  religious  subjects.  Sacred  literature 
dominated  more  and  more,  but  it  was  not  alone,  profane 
literature  still  existed. 

From  the  fourth  to  the  eighth  century,  there  is  no  longer 
any  profane  literature;  sacred  literature  stands  alone;  priests 
only  study  or  write;  and  thoy  only  study,  tlioy  only  write, 
save  some  rare  exceptions,  upon  religious  subjects.  The 
general  character  oi'  the  epoch  is  the  concentration  of  intel- 
lectual development  in  the  religious  sphere.  The  fact  is 
evident,  whether  we  regard  the  state  of  the  schools  which  still 
existed,  or  the  works  which  have  come  down  to  us. 

The  fourth  and  fifth  centuries,  you  will  remember,  were  in 
no  want  of  civil  schools,  of  civil  professors,  instituted  by  the 
temporal  power,  and  teaching  the  profane  sciences.  All 
ihose  great  schools  of  Gaul,  the  organization  and  names  of 


'  Lecture  4th,  pp.  84—103. 


ft  18  HISTOUY    OF 

which  I  have  mentioned  to  you,  were  of  this  description.  1 
have  even  pointed  out  to  you,  that  as  yet  there  were  no 
ecclesiastical  schools,  and  that  religious  doctrines,  which 
daily  became  more  powerful  over  minds,  were  not  regularly 
taught,  had  no  legal  and  official  organ.  Towards  the  end 
of  the  sixth  century,  everything  is  changed :  there  are  no 
longer  civil  schools ;  ecclesiastical  schools  alone  subsist.  Those 
great  municipal  schools  of  Treves,  of  Poictiurs,  of  Vienne,  of 
Bordeaux,  &c  ,  have  disappeared  ;  in  their  place  have  arisen 
schools  called  cathedral  or  episcopal  schools,  because  each 
episcopal  see  had  its  own.  The  catiiedral  school  was  not 
always  alone  ;  we  find  in  certain  dioceses  otiier  schools,  of  an 
uncertain  nature  and  origin,  wrecks,  perhaps,  of  some  ancient 
civil  school,  which,  in  becoming  metamorphosed,  had  perjjctu- 
ated  itself.  In  the  diocese  of  Reims,  for  example,  there  ex. 
isted  the  school  of  Mouzon,  some  distance  from  the  chief 
place  of  the  diocese,  and  in  higli  credit,  although  Reims  had 
a  cathedral  school.  Tlie  clergy  began  also,  about  the  same 
epoch,  to  create  other  sciiuols  in  tlie  country,  also  ecclesi- 
astical, destined  to  form  young  readers  wiio  should  one  day 
become  priests.  In  529,  the  council  of  Vaison  strongly  re- 
commended the  propagation  of  country  schools ;  they  were, 
indeed,  multiplied  very  irregularly,  numerous  in  some  dioceses, 
scarcely  any  in  others.  Finally,  there  were  schools  in  the 
great  monasteries:  the  intellectual  exercises  were  of  two  kinds; 
some  of  the  most  distinguished  monks  gave  direct  instruc- 
tion to  the  members  of  the  congregation,  and  to  the  young 
people  who  were  being  brought  up  at  the  monastery ;  it  was, 
moreover,  the  custom,  in  a  large  number  of  monasteries,  that 
after  the  lectures  at  which  the  monks  were  bound  to  attend, 
they  should  have  conferences  among  themselves  upon  wiiut- 
ever  had  been  made  the  sul)ject  of  the  lecture  ;  and  these  con- 
ferences became  a  powerful  means  of  intellectual  developmeni 
and  instruction. 

The  most  flourishing  of  the  episcopal  schools  from  the 
sixth  to  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century  were  those  of: 

1  Poicliers.  There  were  many  schools  in  the  monasteriea 
of  the  diocese,  at  Poictiers  itself,  at  Liguge,  at  Ansion,  (Sec. 

2.  Paris, 

3.  Le  Mans. 

4.  Bourges. 

5.  Clermont.  There  was  another  school  in  the  town  wticre 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


dl& 


hey  taught  thts  Theodosian  code  ;  a  remarkable  circiimstunce., 
which  I  do  not  find  elsewhere. 

6.  Viriine. 

7.  Chahns-sur-Saone. 

8.  Arks. 

9.  Gap. 

The  most  flourishing  of  the  monastic  schools  of  the  same 
tpocli  were  those  of: 

1.  Luxeuil,  in  Franche-Comt6. 

2.  FonieiieUe,  or  Saint  Vandrille,  in  Normandy  ;  in  which 
were  about  300  students. 

3.  Sithiu,  in  Normandy. 

4.  Saint  Medard,  at  Soissons. 

5.  Lcrens. 

It  were  easy  to  extend  this  list ;  but  the  prosperity  of  mo- 
nastic scliools  was  subject  to  great  vicissitudes ;  they  flourished 
under  a  distinguished  abbot,  and  declined  under  his  suc- 
cessor. 

Even  in  nunneries,  study  was  not  neglected  ;  that  which 
Saint  Cesaire  founded  at  Aries  contained,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  sixth  century,  two  hundred  nuns,  for  the  most 
part  occupied  in  copying  books,  sometimes  religious  books, 
sometimes,  probably,  even  the  works  of  the  ancients. 

The  metamorphosis  of  civil  schools  into  ecclesiastical 
schools  was  complete.  Let  us  see  what  was  taught  in  them. 
We  shall  often  find  in  them  the  names  of  sciences  formerly 
professed  in  the  civil  schools,  rhetoric,  logic,  grammar,  geo- 
metry, astrology,  &c. ;  but  these  were  evidently  no  longer 
taught  except  in  their  relations  to  theology.  This  is  the  foun- 
dation  of  the  instruction  :  all  was  turned  into  commentary 
of  the  Scriptures,  historical,  philosophical,  allegorical,  moral, 
commentary.  They  desired  only  to  form  priests  ;  all  studies, 
whatsoever  their  nature,  were  directed  towards  this  result. 

"  Sometimes  they  went  even  further :  they  rejected  the 
profane  sciences  themselves,  whatever  might  be  the  use  male 
of  them.  At  tiie  end  of  the  sixth  century,  Saint  Dizier, 
bishop  of  Vienne,  taught  grammar  in  his  cathedral  school.. 
Saint  Gregory  the  Great  sharply  blamed  him  for  it.  "  It  is 
not  fit,"  he  writes  to  him,  "that  a  mouth  sacred  to  the  praises 
5f  God,  should  be  opened  for  those  of  Jupiter,"  I  do  no! 
snow  exactly  what  the  praises  of  God  or  of  Jupiter  had  to  dr 
?vilh  grammar ;  but  what  is  evident,  is  the  crying  down  o« 
'he  profane  studies,  although  cultivated  by  the  priests 


820  HISTORY    OF 

The  same  fact  is  visible,  and  far  more  plainly,  in  the  wiil 
ten  literature.  No  more  philosophical  meditations,  no  more 
learned  jurisprudence,  no  more  literary  criticism  ;  save  some 
chronicles,  some  occasional  poems,  of  which  I  shall  speak  at 
a  later  period,  we  have  nothing  belonging  to  this  time  except 
religious  works.  Intellectual  activity  appears  only  under  this 
form,  displays  itself  only  in  this  direction. 

A  still  more  important  revolution,  and  less  perceived,  is 
manifested  :  not  only  did  literature  become  entirely  religious, 
but,  religious,  it  ceased  to  be  literary  ;  there  was  no  longf 
any  literature,  properly  so  called.  In  the  finest  times  of 
Greece  and  Rome,  and  in  Gaul,  up  to  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
empire,  people  studied,  they  wrote,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
studying,  of  knowing,  in  order  to  procure  for  themselves  and 
for  others  intellectual  enjoyment.  Tiie  influence  of  letters 
over  society,  over  real  lifie,  was  only  indirect ;  it  was  not  the 
immediate  end  of  the  writers  ;  in  a  word,  science  and  litera- 
ture were  essentially  disinterested,  devoted  to  the  research 
for  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  satisfied  with  finding  them,  with 
enjoying  them,  and  pretending  to  nothing  more. 

At  the  epoch  which  now  occupies  us  it  was  otherwise  ; 
people  no  longer  studied  in  order  to  know  ;  they  no  hunger 
wrote  for  the  sake  of  writing.  Writings  and  studies  took  a 
practical  character  and  aim.  Wiioever  abandoned  himself 
thereto,  aspired  to  immediate  action  upon  men,  to  regulate 
their  actions,  to  govern  their  life,  to  convert  those  who  did  not 
believe,  to  reform  those  who  believed  and  did  not  practise. 
Science  and  eloquence  were  means  of  action,  of  government 
There  is  no  longer  a  disinterested  literature,  no  longer  any 
true  liteiature.  The  purely  speculative  character  of  philo- 
sophy, of  poetry,  of  letters,  of  the  arts,  has  vanished  ;  it  is  no 
longer  the  beautiful  that  men  ^eek  ;  when  they  meet  with  it, 
it  no  longer  serves  merely  for  enjoyment ;  positive  ap|)]ication, 
influence  over  men,  authority  is  now  the  end,  the  triumph  of 
all  works  of  mind,  of  all  intellectual  development. 

It  is  from  not  having  taken  proper  heed  to  this  character, 
istic  of  the  epoch  upon  which  we  are  occupied,  that,  in  my 
opinion,  a  false  idea  has  been  formed  of  it.  We  find  there 
scarcely  any  works,  no  literature,  properly  so  called,  no  dis- 
interested intellectual  activity  distinct  from  positive  life.  Il 
has  been  thence  concluded,  and  you  have  surely  heard  it  said, 
you  may  everywhere  read,  that  this  was  a  time  of  apathy  and 
•Tioral  sterility,  a  time  abanooned  to  the  disorderly  strngg  e  of 


CIVIMZATIOiN    IN    FRANCE.  82J 

ff)atcrial   forces,  in  which  intellect  was  without  develoj)menl 
and  without  power. 

ll  was  not  so.  Doubtless  notliing  remains  belonging  to  this 
age,  either  of  philosophy,  poetry,  or  literature,  properly  speak- 
ing  ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  there  was  no  intellectual  ac- 
tivity. It  was  in  an  eminent  degree  otherwise  ;  only  it  was 
not  produced  under  the  same  forms  as  at  other  epochs  ;  it  did 
not  lead  to  the  same  results.  It  was  an  activity  entirely  of 
application,  of  circumstance,  which  did  not  address  itself  to 
the  future,  which  iiad  no  design  to  bequeath  literary  monu- 
ments  to  it,  calculated  to  charm  or  to  instruct ;  the  present, 
its  wants,  its  destinies,  contemporaneous  interests  and  life, 
that  was  the  circle  to  which  it  confined  itself,  wherein  the 
literature  of  this  cj)och  spent  itself.  It  produced  Cow  books, 
and  yet  it  was  fertile  and  |)Owerful  over  minds. 

One  is  therefore  highly  astonished  when,  after  having  heard 
it  said,  and  having  oneself  thought  that  this  time  was  sterile 
and  without  intellectual  activity,  we  find  in  it,  upon  looking 
nearer,  a  world,  as  it  were,  of  writings,  not  very  considerable, 
it  is  true,  and  often  little  remarkable,  but  which,  from  their 
number  and  the  ardor  which  reigns  in  them,  attest  a  rare 
movement  of  mind  and  fertility.  They  are  sermons,  instruc- 
tions, exhortations,  homilies,  and  conferences  upon  religious 
matters.  Never  has  any  political  revolution,  never  has  the 
liberty  of  the  press,  produced  more  pamphlets.  Three- 
fourths,  nay,  perliaps  ninety-nine  in  a  hundred,  of  these  little 
works  have  been  lost :  destined  to  act  ttt  the  very  moment, 
almost  all  improvised,  rarely  collected  by  their  authors  or  by 
others,  iney  have  not  come  down  to  us  ;  and  yel  an  immense 
number  remains  to  us  ;  they  form  a  true  and  rich  literature. 

The  sermons,  hotnilies,  instructions,  &c.,  of  this  epoch,  may 
be  ranged  under  foui  classes.  The  one  class  consists  of  ex- 
planations, of  commentaries  upon  the  Scriptures.  A  passionate 
interest  was  attached  to  these  monuments  of  the  common  faith  ; 
men  saw  everywhere  among  them  purposes,  allusions,  lessons, 
examples;  they  sougiit  in' them  hidden  meanings,  moral 
meanings,  will  or  allegory.  The  most  elevated,  the  mosi 
subtle  mind  incessantly  found  there  something  to  exercise 
itself  upon  ;  and  the  people  received  with  avidity  these  ap 
plications  of  books,  which  had  all  their  respect,  the  actual 
'nterests  of  ♦heir  conduct  and  life. 

The  sermons  of  the  second  class  relate  to  the  primitive  his- 
tory of  Christianity,  to  the   festivals  and  solemnities  which 


822  HISTORY    OF 

celebrate  its  great  events,  such  as  the  birth  o(  Jejus  Clirisl, 
his  passion,  his  resurrection,  &;c. 

The  third  class  comprehends  sermons  for  the  festivals  of  Ihe 
samts  and  martyrs  ;  a  kind  of  religious  panegyrics,  sometin»c3 
purely  historical,  sometimes  turned  into  moral  exhortations. 

Finally,  the  fourth  class  is  that  oi  the  sermons  destined  to 
apply  religious  doctrines  to  the  practice  of  life  ;  that  is  to  say. 
sermons  upon  religious  morality. 

I  have  no  intention  to  detain  you  long  upon  this  literature. 
To  really  understand  it,  to  estimate  the  degree  of  develop, 
ment  taken  by  the  human  mind,  and  to  appreciate  tlie  influ. 
cnce  which  it  has  exercised  over  mankind,  a  lengthened 
study  is  necessary,  often  tedious,  although  full  of  results. 
The  number  of  these  compositions  passes  all  conception  :  of 
Saint  Augustin  alone  there  remain  tiiree  hundred  and  ninety- 
four  sermons ;  and  he  preached  many  others,  of  which  we 
onlj  have  fragments,  and  again  many  others  which  are  en- 
tirely lost.  1  shall  confine  myself  to  the  selecting  two  of  the 
men  who  may  be  considered  as  the  most  faithful  representa- 
tives of  this  epoch,  and  to  the  placing  before  you  some  frag- 
ments of  their  eloquence. 

There  were  two  classes  of  preachers — the  bishops  and  the 
missionaries.  The  bishops  in  their  cathedral  town,  where 
they  almost  constantly  resided,  preached  several  times  a  week, 
some  even  every  day.  The  missionaries,  who  were  chiefly 
monks,  perambulating  the  country,  preaching  both  in  churches 
and  in  public  places,  in  the  midst  of  the  assembled  people. 

The  most  illustrious  of  the  bishops  of  the  epoch  which 
occupies  us  was  Saint  Cesaire,  bishop  of  Aries;  the  most  illus- 
trious of  the  missionaries  was  Saint  Colomban,  abbot  of 
Luxeuil.  I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  an  idea  of  their  life 
and  preaching. 

Saint  Cesaire  was  born  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  century,  in 
470,  at  Chalons-sur-Sa6ne,  of  a  considerable  family,  and  al- 
ready celebrated  for  its  piety.  In  his  infancy,  his  tenden- 
cies, both  intellectual  and  religious,  attracted  the  attention 
af  the  bishop  of  Chalons,  Saint  Silvestre,  who  tonsured  him  in 
198,  and  devoted  him  to  an  ecclesiastical  life.  He  made  hia 
ficst  appearance  in  the  abbey  of  Lerens,  where  he  passed 
many  years,  abandoning  himself  to  great  austerities,  and  often 
charged  with  preaching  and  teaching  in  the  interior  of  the 
monastery.  His  health  suffered  from  it;  the  abbot  of  Leiens 
sent  him  to  Aries  to  get  re-established,  and  in  501,  amid  thi" 


CIV^ILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  323 

nrianiinous  acclamntions  of  the  people,  ho  became  bishop  of 
iliiU  pKice. 

lie  occupied  the  see  of  ArlcS  for  forty-one  years,  from  501 
to  iH2,  during  the  whole  of  which  period  he  was  cue  of  the 
most  illustrious  and  influonlial  of  the  bishops  of  southern  Gaul. 
He  presided  at,  and  directed  the  principal  councils  of  this 
epoch,  the  councils  of  Agdc  in  506,  of  Aries  in  524,  of  Car- 
pentras  in  527,  of  Orange  in  529,  all  the  councils  in  which 
the  great  questions  concerning  the  doctrine  and  discipline 
of  the  time  wore  treated  of,  among  others,  lliat  of  semi-Pela- 
gianism  It  appears  oven  that  his  activity  was  no  stranger 
to  politics.  He  was  twice  exiled  from  his  diocese  ;  in  505, 
by  Alaric,  king  of  the  Visigoths,  and  in  513,  by  Theodoric, 
king  of  the  Ostrogoths,  because,  they  said,  he  wished  to 
abandon  Provence,  and  especially  the  city  of  Aries,  to  the 
king  of  the  Burgundians,  under  whose  empire  he  was  born. 
Whether  the  accusation  was  or  was  not  well  founded.  Saint 
Cesairc  was  quickly  restored  to  his  diocese,  which  passionately 
recalled  him. 

His  preaching  there  was  powerful,  and  one  of  the  principal 
sources  of  his  celebrity.  About  a  hundred  and  thirty  of  his 
sermons  have  reached  us,  a  number  far  inferior  to  that  which 
he  preached.  They  may  be  distributed  into  the  four  classes 
which  I  have  just  pointed  out ;  and,  by  a  circumstance  which 
reflects  honor  on  Saint  Cesaire,  the  sermons  on  doctrine  or 
religious  morality  are  more  numerous  than  mystical  allegories, 
or  panegyrics  of  the  saints.  It  is  from  among  the  former  that 
I  shall  take  some  passages  calculated  to  make  you  acquainted 
with  this  kind  of  literature  and  eloquence.' 

In  a  sermon,  entitled  Advice  to  the  faithful  that  they  read 
tne  divine  writings  Saint  Cesaire  urges  them  not  to  devote 
themselves  exclusively  to  their  temporal  affairs,  to  watch  their 
souls,  to  be  occupied  solicitously  with  them. 

"Thecnreof  our  soul,  my  dear  brothers,"  says  he,  "strongly 
resembles  the  cultivation  of  the  earth  :  as  in  the  earth,  we  pluck 
up  some  things  in  order  to  sow  others  which  shall  be  good,  so 
should  it  be  for  our  soul ;  what  is  evil  should  be  rooted  up, 
>vhat  is  good  shouJd  be  planted  ;   let  pride  be  plucked  away, 


•  The  greater  part  of  the  sermong  of  Saint  Cesaire  were  inserted  ie 
the  appendix  to  the  sermons  of  Saint  Augustin,  at  th<?  end  :f  rol.  v  of 
his  works,  fol.  1683. 

41 


524  HISTORY    OF 

and  humility  lake  Us  place  ;  let  avarice  be  rejected,  and 
iiercy  cultivated.  .  .  .  No  one  can  plant  good  things  in  his 
ground,  until  he  has  cleared  it  of  evil  things  ;  accordingly 
ihou  canst  not  plant  the  holy  germs  of  virtue  in  tiiy  soul,  un- 
less thou  first  pluck  out  the  thorns  and  thistles  of  vice.  Tel] 
nie,  I  pray  thee,  thou  who  saidst  even  now  that  thou  coulds* 
not  accomplish  the  commandments  of  God  because  thou  cans: 
not  read,  tell  me,  who  has  taught  thee  to  dress  thy  vino,  at 
what  time  to  plant  a  new  one?  who  has  taught  it  thee? 
Hast  tliou  read  it,  or  hast  thou  heard  speak  of  it,  or  hast  thou 
asked  it  of  able  cultivators  ?  Since  thou  art  so  occupied  w'tli 
thy  vine,  why  art  thou  not  so  with  thy  soul  ?  Give  heed,  my 
brotlier,  I  pray  you,  there  are  too  kinds  of  fields,  one  of  God, 
the  other  of  man  ;  the  domain  of  God  is  thy  sou!  ;  is  it,  then, 
just  to  cultivate  thy  domain,  and  to  neglect  that  of  God  ? 
UMien  thou  seest  the  eartli  in  a  good  state  thou  rejoicest ; 
wherefore,  then,  dost  thou  not  weep  at  seeing  thy  soul  lie  fal- 
low  ?  We  have  but  few  days  to  live  in  this  world  upon  the 
fruits  of  our  earth;  let  us  turn,  therefore,  our  greatest  atten- 
tion  towards  our  souls.  ...  let  us  labor  with  all  our  power, 
with  the  aid  of  God,  to  the  end  that  when  he  shall  come  to  his 
field,  which  is  our  soul,  he  may  find  it  cultivated,  arranged  in 
good  order;  let  him  find  crops,  not  thorns;  wine,  not  vinegar, 
and  more  wheat  than  tares.'" 

Comparisons  borrowed  from  conmion  life,  familiar  anti- 
theses,  singularly  strike  the  imagination  of  the  people  ;  and 
Saint  Cesaire  makes  great  use  of  them.  He  recommends  the 
faithful  to  conduct  themselves  properly  at  church,  to  avoid  all 
distraction,  to  pray  with  attention  : — 

"  Although  in  many  respects,  my  dear  brothers,"  says  he, 
='  we  have  often  to  rejoice  at  your  progress  in  the  way  of  sal- 
vation, still  there  arc  some  things  of  which  wo  must  caution 
you,  and  I  pray  you  to  receive  our  observations  willingly, 
according  to  your  custom.  I  rejoice,  and  I  return  thanks  to 
God  for  that  I  see  you  flock  faithfully  to  the  church  to  hear 
the  divine  lectures;  but  if  you  wish  to  comj)lete  your  success 
and  our  joy,  come  here  earlier :  you  see  tailors,  goldsmiths, 
blacksmiths,  rise  early  in  order  to  provide  for  the  wants  of  the 
bod/;  and  we,  we  cannot  go  before  day  to  church  to  solicit 
pardon  for  our  sins.   .  .  .  Come  then,  at  an  early  hour,  I  prnj 


'  .<?.  Auf^.  Op    vol.  v.,  col   f>(Y\  "i'o 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  826 

you  ;  anrf  once  arrived,  try,  with  tlio  aid  of  God,  to  proven 
any  foreign  thought  from  gliding  amidst  our  prayers,  for  feai 
of  our  having  one  thing  upon  our  lips,  and  another  in  our 
hearts.,  and  that  while  our  language  is  addressed  to  God,  out 
minds  go  astray  upon  all  sorts  of  subjects.  .  .  .  If  thou  wished 
to  urge  any  affair  important  to  thyself  with  some  powerful 
man,  and  suddenly  turning  thyself  from  him,  and  interrupt- 
ing  the  conversation,  thou  wert  to  occupy  thyself  with  all 
sorts  of  trifles,  what  an  insult  wouldst  thou  not  be  guilty  of 
towards  him  ?  what  would  his  anger  not  be  towards  thee  ?  If, 
then,  when  we  are  occupied  with  a  man,  we  employ  all  our 
care  not  to  think  of  anything  else  for  fear  of  oflr-nding  him, 
ought  vvc  not  to  be  a'jhamcd,  when  we  arc  occupied  with  God 
in  prayer,  when  wc  have  to  defend  ourselves  to  his  Holy 
Majesty  for  miserable  sins,  should  we  not  be  ashamed  to  allow 
our  mind  to  wander  here  and  there,  and  to  turn  from  his 
divine  countenance  ?  Every  man,  my  brothers,  takes  for  his 
God  that  which  absorbs  his  tliought  at  tlie  moment  of  prayer, 
and  seems  to  adore  it  as  his  Lord.  .  .  .  This  one,  while  pray- 
ing, thinks  of  the  public  place — it  is  the  public  place  that  he 
adores;  another  has  before  his  eyes  the  house  which  he  is 
constructing  or  repairing :  he  adores  what  he  has  before  his 
eyes;  another  thinks  of  his  vine,  another  of  his  garden.  .  .  . 
What  will  it  be  if  the  thought  which  occupies  be  an  ill 
thought,  an  illegitimate  thought  ?  if,  in  the  midst  of  our 
prayers,  we  allow  our  mind  to  run  upon  cupidity,  rage,  hate, 
luxury,  adultery  ?  .  .  .  1  implore  you,  therefore,  my  cherished 
brothers,  if  you  wish  entirely  to  avoid  these  distractions  of 
the  soul,  let  us  endeavor,  with  the  aid  of  God,  not  to  yield  to 
them.'" 

Even  in  treating  of  the  most  elevated  subjects,  in  addressing 
the  gravest  counsel  to  his  people,  the  tone  of  St.  Cesaire'a 
preaching  is  always  simple,  practical,  foreign  to  all  literary 
pretension,  only  destined  to  act  upon  the  soul  of  his  auditors. 
He  wishes  to  excite  in  them  tfiat  ardor  for  good  works,  thai 
active  zeal,  which  incessantly  pursues  good. 

"  Afany  people,  my  dear  brothers,"  says  he,  "think  tha> 
It  is  sufRcient  for  eternal  life,  if  they  have  done  no  evil  ;  if. 
perchance,  any  one  has  deceived  himself  by  this  false  trar\. 
qiiillity,  let  him  know,  positively,  that  it  is  not  sufficient  for  v 


'   S.  Aug   Op.,  vol   v.,  col    471 — 173 


326  HISTORY    OF 

Christian  merely  to  have  avoided  evil,  if  he  has  not  accom 
plishcd,  as  far  as  in  him  lies,  things  which  are  good  ;  for  Ht 
who  said.  Depart  from  evil, — also  said  to  us,  Do  good. 

"  He  who  thinks  that  it  is  sufficient  rrit  to  have  done  evil, 
although  he  has  done  no  good,  let  him  tell  me  if  he  would 
desire  from  his  servant  what  he  does  to  his  Lord.  Is  there 
any  one  who  would  wish  that  his  servant  should  do  neither 
good  nor  evil  ?  We  all  require  that  our  servants  should  not 
only  not  do  the  evil  which  we  interdict  them,  hut  that  they 
should  acquit  themselves  of  the  labors  that  we  impose  upon 
them.  Thy  servant  would  be  more  seriously  guilty  if  he 
should  rob  thee  of  thy  cattle,  but  he  would  not  be  exempt  from 
fault  if  he  neglected  to  guard  it.  It  is  not  just  that  we  should 
be  towards  God  as  we  would  not  wish  our  servants  to  be  to- 
wards us.  .  .  . 

"  Those  who  think  that  it  is  sufficient  that  they  do  no  evil, 
are  accustomed  to  say :  '  May  it  please  God  that  I  should 
merit  being  found,  at  the  hour  of  death,  the  same  as  when  I 
left  the  sacrament  of  baptism.'  Doubtless,  it  is  good  for 
each  to  be  found  free  from  faults  at  the  day  of  judgment,  but 
it  is  a  grave  one  not  to  have  progressed  in  good.  To  him 
alone  who  left  the  world  as  soon  as  he  received  baptism,  may 
it  suffice  to  be  the  same  as  when  leaving  bai)tism  ;  he  had  not 
time  to  exercise  good  works  ;  but  he  who  has  had  time  to  live, 
and  is  arrived  at  the  age  to  do  good,  it  will  not  suffice  him  to 
be  exempt  from  faults,  if  he  wishes  also  to  be  exempt  from 
good  works.  I  wish  that  he  who  desires  to  be  found  the  same 
at  death  as  he  was  when  he  received  the  sacrament  of  bap- 
tism would  tell  me,  if,  when  he  plants  a  new  vine,  he  wishes 
that  at  the  end  of  ten  years  it  should  be  the  same  as  the  day 
when  he  planted  it.  If  he  grafts  an  olive  plant,  would  it  suit 
him  that  it  should  be  the  same  after  many  years  as  on  the  day 
when  he  grafted  it?  If  a  son  be  born  to  him,  let  him  consi- 
der whether  he  would  wish,  that  after  five  years  he  should  be 
of  the  same  age  and  the  same  size  as  at  the  day  of  his  birth. 
Since,  then,  there  is  no  one  to  whom  this  would  be  agreeable 
for  the  things  which  belong  to  him,  in  the  same  way  ihat  he 
would  be  sorrowful  if  his  vine,  his  olive  plant,  or  his  son, 
should  make  no  progress,  so  let  him  sorrow  if  he  find  that  he 
himself  has  made  no  progress  from  the  moment  he  was  born 
n  Christ.'" 


'  S.  Aug.  Op.,  vol.  v.,  col.  431.  432. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


321 


And  elsewhere  in  a  sermon  upon  charity  : — 

"  It  is  not  without  reason,  you  must  suppose,  thai  I  so  ofYon 
Jiscoursc  with  you  upon  truth  and  perfect  charity.  I  do  it 
because  I  know'no  remedy  so  wholesome,  or  so  efficacious  for 
tlie  wounds  of  sin.  Let  us  add  that,  however  powerful  may 
be  this  remedy,  there  is  no  one  who  may  not  procure  it,  witli 
the  aid  of  God.  For  other  good  works  omitted,  one  may  find 
some  excuse  ;  ther3  is  none  for  omitting  the  duty  of  charity. 
One  may  say  to  me,  '  1  cannot  fast ;'  '  I  cannot  love.'  They 
may  say,  '  From  tlie  weakness  of  my  Dody,  I  cannot  abstain 
from  meat  and  wine  ;'  but  who  can  say  to  me,  '  I  cannot  love 
my  enemies,  nor  pardon  those  wh&  have  ofTended  me  V  Let 
no  one  deceive  himself,  for  no  one  can  deceive  God.  .  .  . 
There  are  many  things  which  we  cannot  draw  from  our  gra- 
nary  or  our  cellar,  but  it  would  be  disgraceful  to  say  tliat  there 
is  something  which  we  cannot  draw  from  the  treasure  of  our 
heart;  for  here  our  feet  have  not  to  run,  our  eyes  to  look,  our 
ears  to  listen,  nor  our  hands  to  work.  We  can  allege  no  fa- 
tigue as  an  excuse  ;  men  do  not  say  to  us :  '  Go  to  tlie  east  to 
seek  charity  ;  sail  to  the  east,  and  thence  bring  back  affection. 
It  is  into  ourselves  and  into  our  hearts  that  they  order  us  to 
enter ;  it  is  there  tliat  we  shall  find  everything.  .  . 

"But,  says  some  one,  I  cannot,  in  any  way,  love  my  ene- 
mies. God  tells  thee  in  the  scriptures  that  thou  canst ;  and 
thou  answeres.:  that  thou  canst  not.  Now,  look  ;  should  we 
believe  God  or  thee  ?  .  .  IIow  then  ?  So  many  men,  so  many 
women,  so  many  cliildren,  so  many  delicate  young  girls 
have  supported  with  a  firm  heart,  for  the  love  of  Christ,  the 
flames,  the  sword,  wild  beasts ;  and  we  cannot  support  the 
insults  of  some  foolish  persons  !  and  for  some  petty  ills  which 
the  wickedness  of  men  has  done  us,  we  pursue  against  them 
to  their  death  the  vengeance  of  our  injuries.  Truly,  I  know 
not  with  what  face  and  with  what  conscience  we  dare  ask  to 
share  eternal  beatitude  with  the  saints,  we  who  cannot  follow 
their  example  even  in  the  slightest  things.'" 

This  is  not  devoid  of  energy  ;  the  feeling  of  it  is  lively,  the 
mrns  picturesque  ;  it  almost  amounts  to  eloquence. 

Here  is  a  passage  which  is  even  more  touching.  It  is 
Joubtful  whether  the  sermon  from  which  I  borrow  it  is  by 
8amt  Cesaire.     It  contains  some  almost  verbal  initations  from 


'  S.  Aug   Op.,  vol.  v.,  col.  4.'J1,452. 


328  HISTORY   OF 

the  eastern  fathers,  especially  Eusebius  anJ  Saint  Gregory  . 
but  this  matters  little  j  it  is  certainly  by  some  preacher  ot"  thf 
time,  and  characterizes  it  as  well  as  that  whicii  1  have  just 
cited.  It  was  preached  on  Easter-day  ;  it  celebrates  Christ's 
descent  into  hell,  and  his  resurrection : 

"  Behold,"  says  the  preacher,  "  you  have  heard  what  was 
done  of  his  own  free  will  by  our  Saviour,  the  Lord  of  Ven. 
geance.     When,  like  a  conqueror,  burning  and   terrible,  he 
reached  the  countries  of  the  kingdom  of  darkness,  at  the  sight 
of  him  the  impious  legions  of  hell,  allrighted  and  trembling, 
began  to  ask  each  other,  saying: — '  What  is  tiiis  terrible  figure 
resplendent   with   tlie   whiteness  of  snow  ?     Never  has  our 
Tartarus  received  his  like ;  never  has  the  world  cast  into  our 
caverns  any  one  resembling   him ;  this  is  an   invader,  not  a 
debtor  j  he  exacts,  he  does  not  ask  ;  we  see  a  judge,  not  a  sup- 
pliant ;  he  comes  to  command,  not  to  succumb;  to  take  away, 
not  to  remain.     Did  our  porters  sleep  when  this  triumpher  at- 
tacked  our  gates?     If  he  was  a  sinner,  he  would  not  be  so 
powerful;  if  any  fault  sullied  him,  he  would  not  illuminate 
our  Tartarus  with  such  brilliancy.     If  he  is  God,  wherefore 
has  he  come  ?  if  he  is  man,  how  has  he  dared  ?     If  he  is 
God,  what  does  he  in  the  sepulchre  ?  if  he  is  man,  why  does 
he  deliver  sinners  ?  whence  comes  he,  so  dazzling,  so  power- 
ful, so  radiant,  so  terrible  ?  .  .  .  Who  is  he,  that  with  so  much 
intrepidity  he  oversteps  our  frontiers,  and  that  not  only  he 
does  not  bear  our  punishments,  but  that  he  delivers  others 
from  our  chains?     Should  not  this  be  he  by  whose  death  our 
prince  lately  said  we  should  gain  the  empire  over  the  whole 
universe  ?     But  if  this  be  he,  the  hope  of  our  prince  has  de- 
ceived  him ;   where  he  thought  to  conquer,  he  has  been  con- 
quered and  thrown  down.     O,  our  prince,  what  hast  thou 
done,  what  hast  thou  wished  to  do?     Behold  him  who,  by  his 
sjilendor,  has   dissipated  thy  darkness;    he  has  overthrown 
thy  dungeons,  broken  thy  chains,  delivered  thy  captives,  and 
changed   their  sorrow  into  joy.     Behold  those  who  were  ac 
customed  to  groan  under  our  torments  insult  us  because  of 
the  salvation   which  they  have  received  ;  and   not  only  do 
they  not  fear  us,  but  they  even  menace  us.     Have  any  seen 
hitherto  the  dead  become  proud,  the  captives  rejoice  ?     Why 
hast  tiiou  desired  to  lead  hither  him  whose  coming  has  called 
back  joy  to  those  who  late  were  in  despair  ?      We  no  longei 
hear  their  accustomed  cries,  none  of  their  groans  resound.*  ' 

*S  Aug.  Op.,  vol.  v., col.  283,284 


CIVILIZATION    11         RANGE.  3*-^^ 

Suroly,  even  were  you  to  find  such  a  passage  in  Paradise 
Lost,  you  would  not  be  astonished,  for  tiiis  discourse  is  not  un- 
ivortliy  of  tlic  hell  of  Milton. 

It  is  not,  however  (and  this  is  a  good  reason  for  not  attribut- 
ing it  to  him),  in  the  general  tone  of  tlie  preaching  of  Saint 
Cesaire.  This  is  in  general  more  simple,  less  ardent ;  it  ad- 
dresses itself  to  the  common  incidents  of  life,  to  the  natural 
feelings  of  the  soul.  There  reigns  in  it  a  mild  kindness  to- 
wards a  genuine  intimacy  with  the  population  to  whom  the 
preacher  addresses  himself;  he  not  only  speaks  a  language 
suited  to  his  auditors,  the  language  which  he  believes  best 
calculated  to  act  upon  them  ;  but  he  pays  attention  to  the  ef- 
fect of  his  words ;  he  wishes  to  take  from  them  anything 
which  they  may  possess  likely  to  wound, — all  bitterness;  he 
in  a  manner  claims  indulgence  for  his  severity. 

"  When  I  make  those  reflections,  I  fear  that  some  will  rather 
be  irritated  against  us  than  against  themselves;  our  discourse 
is  offered  to  your  charity  as  a  mirror;  and  as  a  matron,  when 
she  regards  herself  in  her  mirror,  corrects  what  she  sees  de- 
fective in  her  person,  and  does  not  break  the  mirror ;  so, 
when  any  one  shall  recognize  his  deformity  in  a  discourse,  it 
is  just  that  he  should  rather  correct  himself  than  be  irritated 
against  the  preacher  as  against  a  mirror.  Those  who  receive 
a  wound  are  more  disposed  to  nurse  it  than  to  irritate  them- 
selves against  the  remedies ;  let  no  persons  irritate  them- 
selves  against  spiritual  remedies  ;  let  each  receive,  not  only  pa- 
tiently, but  with  a  good  heart,  what  is  said  to  him  with  a  good 
heart.  It  is  well  known  that  he  who  receives  in  a  good  spirit 
a  salutary  correction,  already  avoids  evil  ;  he  who  is  dis- 
pleased with  his  faults,  begins  to  have  an  inclination  for  what 
is  good,  and  in  proportion  as  he  departs  from  vice,  he  approach- 
es virtue.'" 

Ho  pushes  his  solicitude  so  far  as  to  desire  that  his  audi- 
tors  should  interrogate  him,  and  eoter  into  conversation  with 
him. 

"  It  was  a  cause  of  great  joy  to  him,"  say  liis  biographers, 
"  when  men  induced  him  to  explain  any  obscure  point  ;  and 
lie  himself  fiequently  excited  us  to  it,  by  saying  to  us — '  1 
Know  that  you  do  not  understand  all  that  we  say  ;  why  do 
you  not  mterrogate  us,  to  the  end  that  you  may  be  able  t.i 
rx)mprehend  ?     The  cows  do  not  always  run  to  the  ca  ves— 


'  S.  ^vg.  Op.,  vol.  v.,  col.  480. 


880  HISTORY    OF 

often,  even  the  calves  run  to  the  cows,  that  they  may  appease 
their  liunger  at  the  dugs  of  their  mother.  You  should  act  in 
orecisely  the  same  manner,  so  that  by  interrogating  us,  you 
may  seek  the  means  of  extracting  the  spiritual  iioney  for 
yourselves.' '" 

One  can  scarcely  suppose  but  that  such  language  would 
exercise  great  influence  over  the  mass  of  the  people  ;  tluit  of 
Saint  Cesaire  was  great  indeed,  and  everything  attests  tna; 
few  bishops  possessed  the  soul  of  their  auditors  as  he  did. 

I  pass  to  a  preaching  of  anotlier  kind,  less  regular,  lesa 
wise,  but  not  less  powerful — to  that  of  tlie  missionaries.  1 
have  named  Saint  Colomban  as  the  type  of  this  class  of  men. 
He  was  born  in  540,  not  in  Gaul,  but  in  Ireland,  in  the  pro- 
vince of  Leinster ;  he  prosecuted  his  ecclesiastical  studies, 
and  became  a  monk  in  the  monastery  of  Benchor,  situated  in 
the  North  of  Ireland,  in  Ulster.  What  he  had  to  do  as  a 
common  monk,  and  in  Ireland,  did  not  satisfy  his  activity ; 
and  in  585,  already  forty-five  years  of  age,  he  passed  into 
France  with  twelve  monks  of  his  monastery,  witii  the  sole 
aim  of  visiting  it  and  preaching  there.  He  preached,  indeed, 
while  travelling  from  west  to  east,  with  enormous  success, 
attracting  everywhere  the  concourse  of  the  people,  and  the 
attention  of  the  great.  A  short  time  after  liis  arrival  in  Bur- 
gundy,  the  king,  Gontran,  implored  him  to  remain  there.  He 
established  himself  amidst  the  mountains  of  Vosges,  and  there 
founded  a  monastery.  At  the  end  of  a  very  short  period,  in 
590,  the  increasing  number  of  his  disciples,  and  the  aflluence 
of  people,  obliged  him  to  seek  a  more  extensive  and  more  ac- 
cessible place  ;  he  descended  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains, 
and  tliere  founded  the  monastery  of  Luxeuil,  which  soon  be- 
came very  considerable.  The  successes  of  Saint  Colomban 
were  less  peaceable  than  that  of  Saint  Cesaire — they  were 
accompanied  by  resistance  and  trouble  ;  he  preaciied  tlie 
reformation  of  manners,  the  zeal  of  faith,  witho'it  caring  (or 
any  consideration  or  circumstance,  falling  out  with  princes, 
with  bishops,  casting  the  divine  fire  on  all  sides,  without 
troubling  himself  about  the  conflagration.  Accordingly,  hii 
influence,  which  he  exercised  with  a  good  intention,  was  un- 
certain,  unequal,  and   incessantly  disturbed.     In  602,  he  gol 


•  I'ita  i    Ccesarii,  c   30;  dans  lea  Acta  sand.  ord.  S.  BeueJ.,  Vol 
p.  6«17. 


CIVELIZATION    IN    FKANCE.  831 

iulo  a  quarrel  with  the  neighboring  bishops,  about  the  day  of 
the  celebration  of  Easter,  and  not  choosing  to  yield  anything 
to  the  local  customs,  he  made  enemies  of  them.  About  609, 
a  violent  storm  was  raised  against  him  at  the  court  of  the 
King  of  Burgimdy,  Theodoric  II.,  and,  with  his  accustomed 
energy,  he  preferred  to  abandon  his  monastery  rather  than 
yield  for  an  instant.  Fred6gaire  has  accurately  preserved 
the  account  of  this  contest  ;  J  will  read  it  entire  :  the  cha- 
racter  and  the  situation  of  the  missionary  are  strongly  shown 
in  it: — 

"The  fourth  year  of  the  reign  of  Theodoric,  the  reputa- 
tion of  Saint  Colomban  increased  in  the  cities  and  in  all  the 
provinces  of  Gaul  and  Germany.  •  lie  was  so  mucli  celebrated 
and  venerated  by  all,  that  Icing  Theodoric  often  visited  him 
at  Luxeuil,  to  ask  with  humility  tlie  favor  of  his  prayers.  As 
he  went  there  very  often,  the  man  of  God  began  to  rebuke 
him,  asking  him  why  he  gave  himself  up  to  adultery  with 
concubines,  rather  than  enjoying  the  sweetness  of  a  legiti- 
mate marriage,  so  that  the  royal  race  might  proceed  from  an 
honorable  queen,  and  not  from  an  evil  place.  As  already  the 
king  obeyed  the  word  of  the  tnan  of  God,  and  promised  to 
abstain  from  all  illicit  things,  the  old  serpent  glided  into  the 
soul  of  his  grandmother  Bru!)chault,  who  was  a  second  Jeze- 
bel,  and  excited  her  against  the  saint  of  God  with  the  sting 
of  pride.  Seeing  Theodoric  obey  the  man  of  God,  she  feared 
that  if  her  son,  slighting  the  concubines,  put  a  queen  at  the 
head  of  the  court,  she  would  see  herselfj  by  this  event,  re- 
trenched of  a  part  of  her  dignity  and  honors.  It  happened 
one  day  that  Colomban  visited  the  court  of  Brunehault,  which 
was  then  in  the  domain  of  Bourcheresse.'  The  queen  hav- 
ing seen  him  enter  the  court,  led  to  him  the  sons  that  Theo- 
doric  had  had  by  his  adulteries.  Having  looked  at  them,  the 
saint  asked  what  they  wanted  with  him.  Brunehault  said  to 
him — 'These  are  the  sons  of  the  king — give  them  the  favor 
of  thy  benediction.'  Colomban  said  to  her — '  Know  that 
they  will  never  bear  the  royal  sceptre,  for  they  have  come 
from  an  ill  place.'  She,  in  a  fury,  ordered  the  children  to 
retire.  The  man  of  God  having  left  the  court  of  the  queen, 
at  the  moment  that  he  passed  the  threshold  a  terrible  noise 
from  above  was  heard,  but  did   not  repress  the  fury  of  thij 


Between  Chylous  and  Aiitun. 


S32  HISTORY    OF 

miserable  woman,  who  prepared  to  set  snares  for  him.  .  .  . 
Colomban,  seeing  the  royal  anger  raised  against  him,  promptly 
lepaired  to  the  court,  to  repress  by  his  admonitions  this  un- 
worthy rancor.  The  king  was  then  at  Epoisse,  his  country 
house.  Colomban  arrived  as  the  sun  went  down ;  they  an- 
nounced to  the  king  that  the  man  of  God  was  there,  and  thai 
he  was  not  willing  to  enter  into  the  house  of  the  king.  Then 
Theodoric  said,  that  he  had  rather  properly  honor  the  man  of 
God  than  provoke  the  anger  of  the  Lord  by  offending  one  cf 
his  servants ;  he  therefore  ordered  his  people  to  prepare 
everything  with  royal  pomp,  and  to  go  to  the  servant  of  God. 
They  ran,  therefore,  and  according  to  the  order  of  the  king 
offered  their  presents.  Colomban,  seeing  that  they  presented 
him  dishes  and  cups  with  royal  splendor,  asked  what  they 
wanted.  They  said  to  him — '  This  is  what  the  king  sends 
thee.'  But,  driving  them  back  with  malediction,  he  answered 
— '  It  is  written,  the  Most  High  rejecteth  the  gifts  of  the 
wicked  ;  it  is  not  fit  that  the  lips  of  the  servants  of  God 
should  be  soiled  with  his  meat — of  his  who  interdicts  their 
entry,  not  only  into  his  dwelling,  but  that  of  others.'  At 
these  words,  the  vases  fell  to  pieces,  the  wine  and  the  beer 
ran  over  the  ground,  and  everything  was  scattered  about. 
Some  servants,  terrified,  went  to  tell  the  king  what  had  hap. 
pened.  He,  seized  with  fright,  repaired  at  break  of  day  with 
his  grandmother  to  the  man  of  God  ;  they  implored  him  to 
pardon  them  for  what  they  had  done,  and  promised  to  correct 
themselves  in  future.  Colomban  was  appeased,  and  returned 
to  the  monastery.  But  they  did  not  long  observe  their  pro- 
mises ;  their  miserable  sins  recommenced,  and  the  king  gave 
himself  up  to  his  usual  adulteries.  At  the  news  of  this,  Co- 
lomban sent  him  a  letter  full  of  reproaches,  menacing  bin. 
with  excommunication  if  ho  would  not  correct  himself. 
Brunehault,  again  enraged,  excited  the  mind  of  the  king 
against  Colomban,  and  strove  to  deprive  him  of  all  his  power  ; 
she  prayed  all  the  lords  and  great  men  of  the  court  to  animate 
the  king  against  the  man  of  God  ;  she  also  dared  to  solicit  the 
bishops,  in  order  that  they  might  raise  suspicions  concerning 
his  religion,  and  blame  the  rule  which  he  imposed  upon  his 
monks.  The  courtiers,  obeying  the  discourse  of  this  misera- 
ble queen,  excited  the  mind  of  the  king  against  the  saint  of 
God,  and  persuaded  him  to  cause  him  to  come  and  prove  his 
religion.  The  king  hurried  away,  sought  the  man  of  God  at 
Luxeuil,  and  asked   hint  why  he  deviated  from  the  customti 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


888 


of  other  bishops,  and  also.\vny  the  interior  of  the  monastery 
was  not  open  to  all  Christians.  Coloniban,  with  a  haughty 
soul  and  full  of  courage,  answered  the  king  that  it  was  not 
customary  to  open  the  entrance  of  the  dwelling-place  of  the 
servants  of  God  to  secular  men  and  strangers  to  religion,  but 
tiiat  he  had  places  prepared  and  destined  to  receive  all  guests. 
The  king  said  to  him — 'If  thou  desire  to  acquire  the  gifts  of 
our  bounty  and  the  help  of  our  protection,  thou  must  allow 
every  one  to  enter  into  all  parts  of  thy  monastery.'  The 
man  of  God  answered — '  If  thou  wouldst  violate  what  has 
hitherto  been  subject  to  the  rigor  of  our  rules,  and  if  thou  art 
come  here  to  destroy  the  retreats  of  the  servants  of  God,  and 
overthrow  the  rules  of  discipline,  know  that  thy  empire  shall 
crumble  to  the  ground,  and  that  thou  shalt  perish  with  all  thy 
royal  race  ;'  which  the  event  afterwards  confirmed.  Already, 
with  a  rash  step,  the  king  had  penetrated  into  the  refectory  ; 
terrified  at  these  words,  he  quickly  returned.  He  was  then 
assailed  with  the  warm  reproaches  of  the  man  of  God,  to 
whom  Theodoric  said  :  '  Thou  hopest  I  shall  give  thee  trie 
crown  of  a  martyr  ;  know  that  I  am  not  sufficiently  foolish 
to  commit  so  great  a  crime.  Return  to  a  view  of  things 
which  will  be  far  more  profitable  for  thee,  and  let  him  who 
has  renounced  the  manners  of  secular  men  resume  the  path 
he  has  quitted.'  Tiie  courtiers  all  cried,  with  one  voice,  tliat 
they  could  not  tolerate  in  that  place  a  man  who  would  not 
associate  with  all.  But  Colomban  said  that  he  would  not  go 
beyond  the  boundary  of  tiie  monastery,  unless  taken  away 
by  force.  The  king  then  departed,  leaving  a  certain  lord 
named  Bandulf,  who  immediately  drove  the  saint  of  God 
from  the  monastt,/y,  and  conductc^d  him  in  exile  to  the  town 
of  Besanqon,  until  the  king  should  decide  upon  the  sentence 
which  it  might  please  him  to  pass." 

The  struggle  was  prolonged  for  some  time  ;  the  missionary 
was  finally  obliged  to  quit  Burgundy.  Theodoric  had  him 
conducted  to  Nantes,  where  he  attempted  to  embark  in  order 
to  return  to  Ireland  ;  an  unknown  circumstance,  of  which  his 
biographers  have  made  a  miracle,  prevented  him  crossing  the 
sea  ;  he  resumed  the  route  of  the  countries  of  the  east,  and 
established  himself  in  the  states  of  Teodebert,  brother  of 
Thi^odoric,  in  Switzerland,  on  the  borders  of  the  lake  of  Zu- 
rich  ;  then  on  the  lake  of  Constance,  and  finally  on  the  lake 
of  Geneva.  New  troubles  drove  him  from  this  abode  ;  he 
passed  into  Italy,  and   there  founded,  in   612,  the  monastery 


334  HISTORY    OF 

of  Bobbie,  where  he  died  on  the  21st  of  November,  615,  ar 
object  of  veneration  to  all  the  people  among  whom  he  had 
brought  his  tempestuous  activity. 

It  is  shown  in  his  eloquence  :  few  monuments  of  it  remain 
to  us ;  such  preaching  was  far  more  improvised,  fur  more 
fugitive,  than  that  of  a  bishop.  Belonging  to  Saint  Colombau 
we  have  only  the  rule  which  he  instituted  for  his  munasteryi 
some  letters,  some  poetical  fragments,  and  sixteen  Dircciioiis, 
which  are  really  sermons,  preached  either  during  some 
mission,  or  in  the  interior  of  his  monastery.  The  ';haracter  of 
them  is  entirely  different  from  that  of  the  sermons  of  Saint 
Cesaire ;  there  is  much  less  mind  and  reason  in  them ;  a  less 
fine  and  varied  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  the  ditTerent 
situations  of  life,  less  care  taken  to  model  the  religious  in- 
struction upon  the  wants  and  capacities  of  the  auditors.  But 
on  the  other  hand,  the  flights  of  imagination,  the  pious  trans- 
ports,  the  rigorous  application  of  principles,  the  warfare 
declared  against  all  vain  or  hypocritical  compromise,  give  to 
the  words  of  the  orator  timt  passionate  authority  which  does  not 
always  and  surely  reform  the  soul  of  his  auditors,  but  which 
dominates  over  them,  and,  for  some  time  at  least,  sovereignly 
disposes  of  their  conduct  and  their  life.  I  shall  cite  but  one 
passage  from  them,  so  much  tlie  more  remarkable,  as  being 
what  one  would  least  expect  to  find  there.  It  was  the  age 
when  fasts,  mortifications,  austerities  of  all  kinds  were  nuilti- 
piied  in  the  interior  of  monasteries,  and  Saint  Colomban 
recommends  them,  like  otiiers ;  but,  in  tiie  sincerity  of  his 
enthusiasm,  he  soon  perceived  that  neitlier  sanctity  nor  faith 
existed  therein,  and  he  attacked  the  errors  of  the  monastical 
rigors,  in  the  same  way  that  he  had  attacked  the  baseness  of 
worldly  effeminacy  : 

"  Do  not  suppose,"  says  he,  "  that  it  sufiiccs  for  us  to 
fatigue  the  dust  of  our  body  with  fasts  and  vigils,  if  we  do 
not  also  reform  our  manners.  .  .  .  To  mortify  the  flesh,  if  the 
soul  fructifies  not,  is  to  labor  incessantly  at  the  earth  without 
making  it  produce  any  harvest;  it  is  to  construct  a  statue  of 
gold  outside,  and  of  mud  within.  To  what  purpose  were  it 
to  go  far  abroad  to  make  war,  if  the  interior  be  leflt  a  prey  to 
ruin  ?  What  would  be  said  of  the  man  who  should  dig  all 
round  his  vineyard  and  leave  it  inside  full  of  brambles  and 
bushes?.  ...  A  religion  consisting  merely  of  gestures  and  move- 
ments of  the  body  is  vain  ;  the  sufTering  of  the  body  alone  is 
min  j  the  care  which  a  man  takes  of  his  exterior  is  vain,  if 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


33fl 


ne  does  not  also  watch  and  take  care  of  his  soul.  True 
piety  resides  in  the  humility,  not  of  the  body,  but  of  the 
heart.  To  what  purpose  are'  those  combats,  which  are  fought 
with  the  passions  by  the  servant,  when  these  live  in   peace 

with  the  master  ? It  docs  not  suffice  any  more  to  hear 

speak  of  the  virtues,  or  to  read  of  them Is  it  by  words 

alone  that  a  man  cleanses  his  house  of  filth  ?  Is  it  without 
labor  and  without  sweat  that  a  dai.y  work  can  be  accomplish- 
ed  ?  .  .  .  .  Tliorefore  strengthen  yourself,  and  cease  not  to 
combat ;  no  one  obtains  the  crown,  unless  he  has  courageous- 
y  fonght.'" 

We  do  not  find  many  passages  in  the  Instructions  of  Saint 
Colomhan,  so  simple  as  this.  The  transports  of  imagination 
arc  there  always  mixed  with  subtlety  of  mind  ;  still  the  founda- 
tion is  often  energetic  and  original. 

Compare  this  sacred  eloquence  of  the  sixth  century  with 
the  eloquence  of  the  modern  pulpit,  even  in  its  finest  period  ; 
at  the  seventeenth  century,  for  example.  I  said  but  now 
that  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century,  the  characteristic  of 
literature  was  that  of  ceasing  to  be  literature,  that  it  had 
become  an  action,  a  power;  that  in  writing,  in  speaking,  men 
only  concerned  themselves  with  positive  and  immediate  re- 
sults ;  that  they  sought  neither  science  nor  intellectual  plea- 
sures, and  that,  for  tbis  reason,  the  epoch  produced  scarcely 
anything  but  sermons,  or  works  analogous  to  them.  This  fact, 
which  is  shown  in  the  general  literature,  is  imprinted  on  the 
sermons  themselves.  Open  those  of  modern  times,  they  have 
evidently  a  character  more  literary  than  practical  ;  the  or  ..tor 
aspires  far  more  to  beauty  of  language,  to  the  intellectual 
satisfaction  of  his  auditors,  than  to  influence  them  to  the  bot- 
tom of  their  souls,  to  produce  real  effects,  true  reformation, 
efficacious  conversion.  There  is  nothing  of  this  kind,  no- 
thing literary,  in  the  sermons  which  I  have  just  spoken  of; 
no  anxiety  about  speaking  well,  about  artistically  combining 
images,  ideas  ;  the  orator  goes  to  the  facts  ;  he  desires  to  act : 
he  turns  and  returns  in  the  same  circle  ;  he  fears  not  repeti- 
tions, familiarity,  or  even  vulgarity  ;  he  speaks  briefly,  but  ho 
begins  again  each  morning.  It  is  not  sacred  eloquence,  it  is 
religious  power. 

There  was  at  this  epoch  a  literature  which  has  not  been 


S.  Colonban.  Tmt.  2,  Bibl.patr.,  vol.  xii.,  p.  10. 


836  HISTORY    OF 

remarkable,  a  veritable  literature,  essentially  disinterested, 
whicli  had  scarcely  any  other  end  in  view  but  that  of  pro- 
curing  intellectual,  moral  pleasure  to  the  public ;  I  mean  the 
lives  of  the  saints,  the  legends.  They  have  not  been  intro- 
duced into  the  literary  history  of  this  epoch  :  they  are,  how- 
ever, its  true,  its  only  literature,  for  they  are  the  only  works 
which  had  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  for  their  object. 
\fter  the  battle  of  Troy,  almost  every  town  in  Greece  had 
poets  who  collected  the  traditions  and  adventures  of  the  he- 
roes,  and  made  a  diversion  of  them  for  the  public,  a  national 
diversion.  At  the  epoch  which  occupies  us,  the  lives  of  the 
saints  played  the  same  part  for  the  Christians.  There  were 
men  who  occupied  themselves  in  collecting  them,  writing 
them,  and  recounting  them  for  the  edification,  no  doubt,  but 
more  especially  for  the  intellectual  pleasure  of  the  Christians. 
That  is  the  literature  of  the  time,  properly  so  called.  In  our 
next  lecture,  I  shall  lay  some  of  those  before  you,  as  well  as 
Bome  monuments  of  profane  literature,  which  we  likewise 
Hioet  tl»ero. 


riVII,I7ATinN    IN    FRiVNCE.  H3T 


SEVENTEENTH   LECTURE. 

Prelace  of  the  Old  Mortality  of  WsAter  Scott— Robert  Patterson— Pre 
face  of  the  Vie  de  Saint  Marcellin,  bishop  of  Embrun,  written  a' 
the  commencement  of  the  sixth  century — Saint  Ceran,  bistiop  of 
Paris — Engerness  of  the  Christians  of  these  times  to  collect  the  tra- 
ditions anci  monuments  of  the  life  of  the  saints  and  martyrs — Statis- 
tics of  tliis  branch  of  sacred  literature— Collection  cf  the  Bollandists 
—Cause  of  tiie  number  and  popularity  of  legends — They  almos* 
alone  satisfy  at  this  cjioch- 1.  The  wants  of  the  moral  nature  ot 
man— Examples  :  Life  of  Saint  Bavon,  of  Saint  VVandrcgisilus,  of 
Saint  Valery — 2.  The  wants  of  physical  nature — Examples :  Life  of 
St.  Germain  of  Paris,  of  Saint  VVaiidregisilus,  of  Saint  Rusticulus,  of 
Saint  Sulpicius  of  Bourges— 3.  The  wants  of  the  imagination — Ex- 
amples :  Life  of  Saint  Seine,  of  Saint  Austregesilus- Literary  de- 
fects and  merits  of  legends. 

Heading  the  Puritans  of  Walter  Scott  is  a  preface  which 
the  French  translators  have  onnltted,  I  know  not  why,  and 
from  which  I  take  the  following  details  : 

'*  The  lomhs  of  the  puritan  martyrs,  scattered  in  large 
numbers,  especially  in  some  counties  of  Scotland,  are  still 
objects  for  the  respect  and  devotion  of  their  partisans.  It  is 
sixty  years  ago  that  a  man  living  in  the  county  of  Dumfries, 
named  Robert  Patterson,  a  descendant,  it  was  supposed,  of 
one  of  the  victims  of  the  persecution,  quitted  his  house  and 
small  inheritance,  in  order  to  devote  himself  to  the  task  of 
keeping  these  modest  tombs  in  repair.  ...  He  contrived  to 
discover  them  in  the  most  secret  places,  in  the  mountains  and 
rocks  where  the  insurgent  puritans  had  taken  refuge,  and 
where,  often  surprised  by  troops,  they  perished  sword  in  hand, 
or  were  shot  after  the  coinbat.  He  freed  the  funeral  stone 
from  the  moss  which  covered  it,  he  renewed  the  half  effaced 
inscription  where  the  pious  friends  of  the  dead  had  expressed, 
in  scriptural  style,  both  the  celestial  joys  which  awaited  him, 
and  the  malediction  which  should  for  ever  pursue  his  mur- 
derers. Every  year  he  visited  all  the  tombs :  no  season 
stopped  him  ;  he  begged  not,  nor  had  he  any  need  so  to  do  ; 
hospitality  was  always  assured  him  in  the  families  of  the  mar- 
tyrs  or  zealots  of  the  sect.  For  nearly  thirty  years  he  conti- 
nued this  painful   pilfrrimage  ;   and  it  is  scarcely  more  than 


388  HISTORY    OF 

twenty-five  years  since  he  was  found  exhausted  with  fatigue 
and  breathing  his  last  sigh  upon  the  high  road,  near  Loclierby ; 
by  liis  side  was  Ids  old  white  horse,  the  companion  of  his  a- 
bors.  In  many  parts  of  Scotland,  Robert  Patterson  is  still 
remembered,  and  the  people,  ignorant  of  his  real  name, 
designated  him,  from  the  employment  tc  which  he  devoted  his 
life,  by  that  of  Old  Mortalily  (man  of  the  dead  of  olden 
times)." 

I  go  bock  from  the  eighteenth  to  the  sixth  century,  and  1 
read  at  tho  head  of  the  Life  :f  Suiul  Marcellin,  bishop  of 
Embrun,  this  little  prologue  : 

"By  tlie  bounty  of  Christ,  the  combats  of  the  illustrious 
martyrs,  and  the  praises  of  the  blessed  confessors,  have  filled 
the  world  to  such  a  degree,  that  almost  every  town  may  boast 
of  having  as  patrons  martyrs  born  within  its  bosom.  Hence 
it  happens,  that  the  more  they  write  and  propagate  tliC  ines- 
timable recompense  which  they  received  for  their  virtues,  the 
more  will  the  gratitude  of  the  faithful  increase.  According- 
ly, I  find  my  pleasure  in  seeking  everywhere  the  palms  of 
these  glorious  champions  ;  and  while  travelling  with  this  view, 
1  arrived  at  the  city  of  Embrun.  There  I  found  that  a  man, 
long  since  sleeping  with  the  Lord,  still  porfijrms  signal  mira- 
cles  I  asked,  curiously,  what  bad  been  the  kind  of 

life  of  this  holy  man  fjom  his  infancy,  what  was  his  country, 
by  what  proofs  and  by  what  marvels  of  virtue  he  had  been 
raised  to  the  sublime  charge  of  pontiff;  and  all  declared  with 
one  voice  wliat  I  have  here  committed  to  writing.  Men  even 
whose  age  has  been  prolonged  to  a  very  late  period,  and  some 
of  whom  have  attained  ninety,  and  even  a  hundred  years, 
have  given  me  unanimous  answers  concerning  the  holy  pon- 
tifT.  ...  I  wish,  therefore,  to  transmit  his  memory  to  future 
ages,  although  I  feel  my  weakness  succumb  under  such  u 
burden.'" 

Behold  the  Robert  Patterson  of  the  sixth  century:  this  un- 
known man  performed  the  same  travels,  and  fulfilled  almost 
the  same  ofiice  for  the  Christian  heroes  of  this  epoch,  as  Old 
Morlalily  did  for  the  martyrs  of  Scotch  puritanism.  It  was  a 
*.aste,  a  general  need  of  the  age,  that  of  seeking  all  the  tradi- 
Lions,  al-  the  monuments  of  the  martyrs  and  saints,  and  trans- 


>  Vie  de  Saint  Marcellin,  i  i  the  Jlcta  Sanctorum  ot  the  Bollandist*, 
iOth  April,  vol.  ii.,  p    751. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  839 

initting  them  to  posterity.  Saint  Ccraune,  or  Ceran  bishop 
of  Paris  at  the  begiiming  of  the  seventh  century,  likewise  de- 
voted Iiis  life  to  this  task.  He  wrote  to  all  the  priests  whom 
he  thouglit  learned  in  the  pious  traditions  of  tlieir  country, 
praying  them  to  collect  such  for  him :  we  know,  among 
others,  that  lie  addressed  iiimself  to  a  priest  of  the  diocese  of 
Langres,  called  VVarnacher,  and  that  this  latter  sent  him  the 
acts  of  three  sainted  brothers  of  one  birth,  Speusippius,  Eleu- 
fiippius,  and  Meleusippius,  martyrized  in  that  diocese  shortly 
after  the  nn'ddle  of  the  second  century  ;  and  of  Saint  Didier, 
bishop  of  Langres,  who  underwent  tho  same  fate  about  one 
hundred  years  later.  It  would  be  easy  to  find  many  analo- 
gous facts  in  tlie  history  of  Christianity,  from  the  fourth  to  the 
tenth  century. 

Thus  were  amassed  the  materials  of  the  collection  com- 
menced in  1G43  by  Bolland,  a  Jesuit  of  Belgium,  since  con- 
tinued by  many  other  scholars,  and  known  Under  the  name 
of  Recueil  dcs  BoUandistcs.  All  monuments  relative  to  the 
life  of  the  saints  are  there  collected  and  classed  by  month  and 
day.  The  enterprise  was  interrupted  in  1794  by  the  Belgian 
revolution  ;  so  the  work  is  finished  only  for  the  first  nine 
months  of  the  year,  and  the  first  fourteen  days  of  the  month 
of  October.  The  end  of  October,  and  the  months  of  Novem- 
ber and  December  s.re  wanting  ;  but  the  materials  for  them 
were  prepared :  they  have  been  found,  and  it  is  said  that  no 
time  will  be  lost  in  publishing  them. 

In  its  actual  state,  this  collection  contains  53  volumes  folio, 
of  which  the  following  is  the  distribution  : — 


January.     . 
February     . 
March    . 
April      .     . 

May 

Vols. 

.     .     2 
.     .     3 
.     .     3 
-     .     3 

.     .     8 

Voli 

July 7 

August    ....     6 
September    ...     8 
October  (up  to  the 
fourteenth  day)  .     6 

June        .     . 

.     .     7 

Would  you  have  an  idea  of  the  number  of  lives  of  tho 
saints,  long  or  succinct,  contemporaneous  or  not,  which  fill 
tliese  53  volumes  ?  Here  is  the  list,  day  by  day,  of  thoae  of 
fhe  Hionth  of  April : — 


42 


340 


HISTOBY 

OP 

April  I.     . 
2.     . 

SalDts. 

.     40 
.     .     41 

April  17.     . 
18.     . 

SaiaU 

.     .     42 
.     .     46 

3.     . 

.     .     26 

19.     . 

.     38 

4.     . 

.     26 

20.     . 

.     57 

5      . 

.     20 

21.     . 

.     24 

6.     . 

.     55 

22.     . 

.     62 

7.     . 

.     35 

23.     . 

.     43 

8.     . 

.     25 

24.     . 

.     74 

9.     . 

.     39 

25.     . 

.     30 

10.     . 

.     30 

26.     . 

48 

11.     . 

.     39 

27.     . 

.     56 

12.     .     . 

.   141 

28.     . 

45 

13.     . 

.     39 

29.     . 

.     58 

14.     .     . 

.     46 

30.     . 

.   126 

15.     . 

.     41 

16.     .     . 

.     81 

1472 

I  have  not  made  the  calculation  for  the  fifty-three  volumes  j 
but  according  to  this  amount  of  one  month,  and  judging  by 
approximation,  they  contain  more  than  25,000  lives  of  saints. 
I  must  add  that  many,  doubtless,  have  been  lost,  and  tliat 
many  others  still  remain  unpublished  in  the  libraries.  Thia 
simple  statistic  shows  you  the  extent  of  this  literature,  and 
what  prodigious  activity  of  mind  it  presupposes  in  the  sphere 
of  which  it  is  the  object. 

Such  an  activity,  such  a  fertility,  surely  did  not  proceed 
from  the  mere  fancy  of  the  authors ;  there  were  general  and 
powerful  causes  for  it.  It  is  customary  to  see  them  only  in 
the  religious  doctrines  of  this  epoch,  in  the  zeal  wbich  they 
inspired:  assuredly,  they  conspired  thereto;  and  nothing  of 
the  kind  was  done  without  their  influence ;  still  thoy  did  not 
do  all.  In  other  times,  also,  these  doctrines  were  dilfuscd, 
were  energetic  without  producing  the  same  result.  It  was 
not  merely  to  faith  and  to  religious  exaltatioi  •  it  was  also, 
and  perhaps  more  especially,  to  the  moral  state  of  society  and 
of  man,  from  the  fifth  to  the  tenth  century,  that  the  literature 
of  legends  owes  its  richness  and  popularity. 

You  know  the  character  of  the  epoch  which  we  have  just 
studied :  it  was  a  time  of  misery  and  extreme  disorder,  one  of 
those  times  which  weigh,  in  some  measure,  in  all  direciiona 
upon  mankind,  checking  and  destroying  it.  But  however 
bad  the  times  may  be,  whatever  may  be  the  external  circunt 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  84 1 

aiuiices  whicli  oppress  human  nature,  there  is  an  energy,  an 
elasticity  in  it,  which  resists  their  empire  ;  it  has  faculties, 
wants  which  make  their  way  through  all  obstacles  ;  a  thousand 
causes  may  curb  them,  turn  them  from  their  natural  direc- 
tion, suspend  or  divert  their  development  for  a  greater  or  less 
length  of  time  J  nothing  can  abolish  them,  reduce  them  tj  a 
Btate  of  complete  impotence:  they  seek  and  always  find  iOme 
issue,  some  satisfaction. 

It  was  the  merit  of  the  pious  legends  to  give  to  some  of  those 
powerful  instincts,  those  invincible  waits  of  the  human  soul, 
that  issue,  that  satisfaction,  which  all  elsewhere  refused  them. 

And  first  you  know  to  what  a  deplorable  state  Frankish- 
Gaul  had  arrived,  what  depravation  or  what  brutality  reigned 
ihere.  The  view  of  the  daily  recurring  events  revolted  or 
suppressed  all  the  moral  instincts  of  man ;  everything  was 
abandoned  to  chance  or  to  force  ;  we  scarcely  meet,  in  the 
interior  world,  with  that  empire  of  idea  of  duty,  that  respect 
for  right,  which  is  the  foundation  of  the  security  of  life  and 
the  repose  of  the  soul.  They  were  found  in  the  legends. 
Whoever  will  cast  a  glance,  on  the  one  hand,  upon  tho 
chronicles  of  civil  society,  on  the  other,  upon  the  lives  of  the 
saints, — whoever,  in  the  History  of  Gregory  of  Tou/s  alone 
will  coniparo  the  civil  traditions  and  the  religious  traditions, 
will  be  struck  with  their  did'erence  ;  in  the  one,  morality 
only  appears,  so  to  speak,  in  spite  of  mankind  and  without 
their  knowledge  ;  interest  and  passions  alone  reign  :  people 
are  plunged  into  their  chaos  and  darkness  ,  in  the  others, 
amidst  a  deluge  of  absurd  fables,  morality  bUi  its  forth  with  an 
immense  influence ;  it  is  seen,  it  is  felt ;  this,  sun  of  intellect 
shines  upon  the  world  in  the  bosom  of  which  it  lives.  I  might 
refer  you  almost  indifferently  to  all  the  legends  ;  you  would 
everywhere  meet  with  the  fact  I  point  out.  Two  or  threa  ex- 
amples will  make  it  fully  evident. 

Saint  Bavon,  or  Bav,  hermit  and  patron  of  the  town  of 
Ghent,  who  died  in  the  middle  of  the  seventh  century,  had  at 
first  led  a  worldly  life ;  I  read  in  his  history,  written  by  a  co- 
temporary  : 

"  One  day  he  saw  a  man  come  to  him,  whom  formerly,  and 
while  he  still  led  a  worldly  life,  he  had  himself  sold.  At  this 
sight,  he  fell  into  a  violent  fit  of  despair  for  having  committed 
so  great  a  crime  towards  this  man  ;  and,  turning  towards 
him,  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  saying,  'It  is  I  by  whom  thou  wast 
§old,  tied  with  thongs ;  remember  not,   I  implore  thee,  lh( 


ji42  HISTORY   OF 

evil  that  I  have  done  to  thee,  and  grant  me  one  prayer.  Slnkc 
my  body  with  rods,  shave  my  head  as  tliou  wouldst  that  of  a 
robber,  and  cast  me  in  prison  as  I  deserve,  with  my  feet  and 
hands  tied  ;  may  be,  if  thou  dost  this,  the  Divine  mercy  will 
grant  me  his  pardon.'  The  man  ....  says  tliat  he  dare  not 
do  such  a  thing  to  his  master  j  but  the  lioly  man,  who  spoko 
eloquently,  strove  to  induce  him  ♦o  do  what  he  asked. 
Finally,  constrained,  and  despite  himstlf,  the  other,  overcome 
by  his  prayers,  did  as  he  required  him  ;  he  tied  the  hands  of 
the  godly  man,  shaved  his  head,  tied  his  feet  to  a  stick,  and 
conducted  him  to  the  public  prison  ;  and  the  holy  man  re- 
mained there  many  days,  deploring  day  and  night  those  acta 
of  a  worldly  life,  which  he  had  always  before  his  mind's  eye. 
as  a  heavy  burden.'" 

The  exaggeration  of  these  details  is  of  little  importance  ; 
even  the  material  truth  of  the  history  is  of  little  importance  : 
it  was  written  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventh  century,  to 
those  men  of  the  seventh  century  who  incessantly  had  under 
their  observation  servitude,  the  sale  of  slaves,  and  all  the 
iniquities,  all  the  suflerings,  which  ensued  from  their  condi- 
tion.  You  can  understand  what  a  charm  this  simple  recital 
possessed  for  them.  It  was  a  real  moral  relief,  a  protest 
against  odious  and  powerful  facts,  a  weak  but  precious  echo 
of  the  rights  of  liberty. 

Here  is  a  fact  of  another  nature  :  I  take  it  from  the  Life  of 
Saint  Wandreginilus,  Abbot  of  Fonlenelle,  who  died  in  607, 
and  who,  before  embracing  the  monastic  life,  had  been  count 
of  the  palace  of  king  Dagobert : — 

"  While  he  still  led  a  lay  life,  as  he  was  travelling  one  day 
accompanied  by  his  people,  he  arrived  at  a  certain  place  on 
his  road  ;  the  people  in  insurrection  abandoned  themselves  to 
all  the  transports  of  fury  against  the  holy  man  :  impelled  by 
a  barbarous  and  insensate  rage,  and  fallen  into  the  condition 
of  beasts,  a  crowd  of  people  rushed  towards  him,  and  much 
blood  would  have  been  shed,  if  his  intervention  and  the  power 
of  Christ  had  not  provided  a  remedy.  He  implored  the  succor 
of  Him  to  whom  it  is  said  :  '  Thou  art  my  refuge  against  tri- 
bulations;'  and  trusting  to  words  instead  of  his  sword,  he 
placed  himself  under  the  shie'd  of  Divine  mercy.     Divine 


'  Id  653  01  057.      Life  of  Saint  Bavon,  §  10,  Acta  Santt   Ord.  B 
Btm  ,  vol.  ii.,  p.  400. 


CIVIL  ZATION    IN    FRANCE.  34S 

n(>lp  did  not  fail  him,  when  human  help  was  wanting ;  this 
crowd  of  madmen  stood  immoveable.  The  discourse  of  the 
holy  man  then  dispersed  and  saved  them  at  the  same  time  ; 
they  came  in  fury,  and  they  retired  in  quiet.'" 

Would  you  suppose  that  at  this  epocli  it  would  have  occurred 
to  any  barbarian,  to  any  man  a  stranger  to  religious  ideas, 
thus  to  manage  the  multitude,  to  employ  only  persuasion  and 
words,  in  order  to  appease  a  disturbance  ?  It  is  very  probable 
that  he  would  have  had  immediate  recourse  to  force.  The 
rash  employment  of  force  was  repugnant  to  a  pious  man,  pre 
occupied  with  the  idea  that  he  had  to  do  with  souls  ;  instead 
of  physical  force,  he  invoked  moral  force  ;  before  massacre, 
he  tried  a  sermon. 

I  now  take  an  example  in  which  the  relations  of  men  shall 
be  nothing,  in  which  no  attempt  shall  be  made  to  substitute 
moral  for  physical  force,  nor  to  protest  against  social  iniquity  ; 
in  wliich  there  is  no  question  concerning  anything  but  indi- 
vidual, private  sentiments,  of  the  internal  life  of  man.  I  read 
in  the  life  of  Saint  Valery,  who  died  in  622,  abbot  of  Saint 
Valery,  in  Picardy : 

"  As  this  godly  man  returned  on  foot  from  a  certain  place," 
says  Cayeux,  "  to  his  monastery,  in  the  winter  season,  it  hap- 
pened, by  reason  of  the  excessive  rigor  of  the  cold,  that  he 
stopped  to  warm  himself  in  the  dwelling  of  a  certain  priest. 
This  latter  and  his  companions,  who  should  have  treated  such 
a  guest  with  great  respect,  began,  on  the  contrary,  boldly  to 
hold  unsuitable  and  ill  discourse  with  the  judge  of  the  place. 
Faithful  to  his  custom  always  to  put  the  salutary  remedy  of 
the  Divine  word  upon  corrupted  and  frightful  wounds,  he 
attempted  to  check  them,  saying  :  *  My  sons,  have  you  not 
Been  in  the  Evangelist  that  at  the  day  of  judgment  you  will 
have  to  account  for  every  idle  word  ?'  But  they,  scorning 
his  admonition,  abandoned  themselves  more  and  more  to  gross 
and  obscene  discourse,  for  the  mouth  speaks  from  the  over- 
flowing of  the  heart.  As  for  him,  he  said  :  *  I  desired,  by 
reason  of  the  cold,  to  warm  my  fatigued  body  a  little  at  your 
fire  ;  but  your  guilty  discourse  forces  me  to  depart,  nil  frozen 
as  I  am.'     And  he  lefl  the  house.'"' 


'  Life  of  Saint  Wandregisilug,  §  4,  in  the  Acta  Sand.  Ord.  S.  Ben. 
»c     ii.,  p.  r)35. 

3  Life  of  Sainl  Valery,  §  25,  in  the  Jlcta  Sand.  Ord.  S  Ben  .vcj 
!i.,  p.  86. 


•144  HISTORY    OF 

Of  a  surety  the  manners  and  language  of  the  men  of  tliia 
age  were  very  coarse,  disorderly,  impure ;  still,  doubt. ess, 
respect,  a  taste  even  for  gravity,  for  purity,  both  in  thoughi 
and  word,  was  not  abolished  ;  and  when  they  found  an  occa- 
sion, many  among  them  certainly  took  pleasure  in  satisfying 
that  taste.  The  legends  alone  furnished  tliem  with  the  means. 
There  was  presented  the  image  of  a  moral  state,  highly  supe- 
rior, in  every  respect,  to  that  of  the  external  society,  of 
common  life  ;  the  Imman  mind  might  there  repose,  relieved 
from  the  view  of  crimes  and  vices  which  assailed  it  on  all 
sides.  Perhaps  it  scarcely  itself  sought  this  "elief ;  I  doubt 
if  it  ever  made  account  of  it ;  but,  when  it  came  upon  it,  it 
eagerly  enjoyed  it ;  and  this,  no  doubt,  was  the  first  and  most 
powerful  cause  of  the  popularity  of  this  literature. 

This  was  not  all  :  it  also  answered  to  other  wants  of  our 
nature,  to  those  wants  of  affection,  of  sympathy,  which  pro- 
ceed, if  not  from  morality,  properly  so  called,  at  least  from 
moral  sensibility,  and  wliich  exercise  so  much  influence  over 
the  soul.  The  sensible  faculties  had  much  to  suffer  at  the 
epoch  which  occupies  us  ;  men  were  hard,  and  were  treated 
harshly ;  the  most  natural  sentiments,  kindness,  pity,  friend- 
ship, both  of  family  and  of  choice,  took  but  a  weak  or  painful 
development.  And  yet  they  were  not  dead  in  the  heart  of 
man  :  they  often  sought  to  display  themselves  ;  and  the  sight 
of  their  presence,  of  their  power,  charmed  a  population  con- 
demned to  so  little  enjoyment  of  them  in  real  life.  Tlie 
legends  gave  them  this  spectacle  ;  although  by  a  very  false 
idea,  in  my  opinion,  and  one  which  has  produced  deplorable 
extravagances,  the  religion  of  the  time  often  commanded  the 
sacrifice,  even  the  contempt  of  the  most  legitimate  feelings, 
still  it  did  not  stifle,  it  did  not  interdict  the  development  of 
human  sensibility;  while  very  often  ill  directing  i's  ap|)lica. 
tion,  it  favored  rather  than  suppressed  its  exercise.  We  find, 
in  the  lives  of  the  saints,  more  benevolence,  more  tenderness 
of  heart,  a  larger  part  given  to  the  afiections,  than  in  any 
other  monument  of  this  epoch.  1  will  place  before  you  some 
instances  ;  I  am  convince!  you  will  be  struck  with  the  deve- 
lopment of  our  sensible  nature,  which  breaks  forth  amidst  the 
theory  of  sacrifice  and  self-denial. 

The  ardent  zeal  of  Saint  Germain,  bishop  of  Paris  in  the 
oat  half  of  the  sixth  century,'  for  the  redemption  of  slaves,  is 

Died  ia  576 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  345 

tnown  by  every  one  ;  mtiny  pictures  have  perpetuated  it,  hut 
Ihe  touching  details  of  it  must  be  rend  in  his  life  : 

"  Were  even  the  voices  of  all  united  in  one,  you  could  not 
pay  how  prodigal  were  his  alms ;  often  contenting  himself 
with  a  tunic,  he  covered  some  poor  naked  object  with  the  res' 
cf  his  clothes,  so  that  while  the  beggar  was  warm,  the  bene 
factor  was  cold.  It  is  impossible  to  enumerate  in  how  man} 
places,  or  in  what  ntimber,  he  redeemed  captives.  Thr 
neighboring  nations,  the  Spaniards,  the  Scotch,  the  Britons 
the  Gascons,  the  Saxons,  the  Burgundians,  may  attest  in 
what  way  recourse  was  had,  on  all  sides,  to  the  name  of  the 
Saint,  in  order  to  be  delivered  from  the  yoke  of  slavery. 
When  he  had  nothing  more  left,  he  remained  seated,  sorrow- 
ful and  restless,  with  a  more  grave  visage^  and  a  more  solemn 
conversation.  If  by  chance  any  one  then  invited  him  to  a 
repast,  he  excited  the  guests,  or  his  own  servants,  to  concert 
the  manner  of  delivering  a  captive,  and  the  soul  of  the  bishop 
escaped  a  little  from  its  despondency.  If  the  Lord,  in  any 
way,  sent  means  to  the  saint,  immediately,  seeking  in  his 
mind,  he  was  accustomed  to  say :  '  Let  us  return  thanks  to  the 
Divine  clemency,  for  the  means  of  efTecting  redemption  has 
arrived,'  and  at  once,  without  hesitation,  the  efTcct  followed 
the  words.  When,  therefore,  he  had  thus  received  anything, 
the  wrinkles  on  his  forehead  disappeared,  his  countenance 
was  more  serene,  he  walked  with  a  lighter  step,  his  discourse 
was  more  copious  and  lively  ;  so  much  so  that  one  would 
have  thought  that,  in  redeeming  others,  this  man  delivered 
himself  from  the  yoke  of  slavery.'" 

Never  has  the  passion  of  goodness  been  painted  with  a  mor» 
simple  and  a  truer  energy. 

In  the  life  of  Saint  Wandregisilus,  abbot  of  Fontenelle,  o* 
v/hom  I  have  just  spoken,  I  find  this  anecdote  : 

"  As  he  repaired  one  day  to  king  Dagobert,  just  as  he  ap 
preached  the  palace,  there  was  a  poor  man  whose  cart  hai' 
been  overthrown  before  the  ver}  gate  of  the  king  :  many  peo 
pie  passed  in  and  out,  and  not  only  they  did  not  lend  him  any 
aid,  but  many  passed  over  him,  and  trod  him  under  foot.  Th» 
man  of  God,  when  he  arrived,  saw  the  impiety  which  thes* 
shildren  of  insolence  cornmitted,  and  immediately  descending 


1  Life  of  Saint  Germain,  bishop  of  Paris,  §  74,  in  the  Acta  Sanel 
Urd  S.  Ben.,  vol.  i.,  p.  244. 


B46  HISTORY    OF 

from  hit!  horse,  he  held  his  hand  out  to  the  poor  man,  and  hot!) 
together,  they  raised  tiie  cart.  Many  of  those  present,  seeing 
him  all  soiled  with  mud,  mocked  and  insulted  liiin  ;  but  he 
cared  not,  following  vvitli  humility  the  humble  example  of  hia 
Master;  for  the  Lord  himself  lias  said  in  the  Gospel  :  '  If  they 
have  called  the  master  of  the  house  Beelzebub,  how  mucll 
more  shall  they  call  them  of  bis  household  V  '" 

Here  is  another  taken  from  the  Life  of  Saint  Sulpieius  the 
Pious,  bishop  of  Bourges,  in  which  breathes,  amidst  the  most 
puerile  credulity,  a  benevolence  and  a  mildness  certainly  very 
foreign  to  the  general  manners  of  the  epoch. 

"  One  night,  a  ruffian,  doubtless  poor,  introduced  himself 
violently  into  the  pantry  of  the  holy  man  :  lie  soon  seized  upon 
what,  in  his  criminal  heart,  he  proposed  stealing,  and  hastens 
to  get  out ;  but  lie  finds  no  opening,  he  is  imprisoned  within 
the  surrounding  walls,  and  confined  on  all  sides.  The  night 
slipt  away  fruitlessly  to  this  man  who  had  entered  so  easily, 
and  who  could  not  see  the  slightest  outlet.  However,  the  light 
of  day  began  to  light  the  world ;  the  man  of  God  called  one 
of  his  guards,  ordered  him  to  take  a  comrade,  and  to  bring  to 
him  the  man  they  should  find  in  the  ofiice,  plunged  in  crime, 
and  as  if  bound. 

"  The  servant  went  without  delay  to  seek  a  companion,  and 
repaired  to  the  office :  there  they  found  the  guilty  man,  and 
seized  him  to  carry  him  off;  the  knave  escaped  from  their 
hands;  and  seeing  himself  loaded  with  crimes,  surrounded 
with  people,  preferring  a  speedy  death  to  the  punishment  of 
his  long  transgressions,  he  rushed  into  a  well  nearly  eighty 
cubits  deep,  which  he  saw  near  him  ;  but  at  the  moment  when 
he  fell  into  the  abyss,  he  implored  the  prayers  of  the  blessed 
bishop.  The  man  of  God  ran  quickly,  and  ordered  one  of 
his  servants  to  descend  into  the  well  by  means  of  a  cord,  en- 
joining him  expressly  immediately  to  draw  up  the  criminal 
who  had  thrown  himself  in.  All  exclaimed  that  any  one 
whonj  such  an  abyss  had  swallowed  could  not  live,  and  that 
Burely  ho  was  dead  already ;  but  the  ln)ly  man  ordered  his 
servant  to  obey  him  without  delay.  The  latter  waited  no 
longer,  and,  strengthened  with  the  benediction  of  the  saint. 
he   found    him   whom   they    believed   dead   sound   and   safe. 


•  Life  of  Saint  Wandregiailus,  §  1,  in  the  ^icla  Sand.  Ord.  S.  Ben., 
io\   ii.,  p.  528 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  847 

Having  surrounded  him  with  cords,  he  drew  him  captive  oo 
to  his  native  soil.  The  walls  could  not  contain  the  crowd  ; 
almost  the  whole  town  had  hastened  to  such  a  spectacle,  anc" 
nil  made  a  great  noise  with  their  cries  and  plaudits.  The 
criminal,  as  if  shaking  off  a  profound  stupor,  threw  himself 
at  the  feet  of  the  saint,  and  implored  his  pardon.  The  latter, 
full  of  charity,  immediately  granted  it  lo  him,  and  even  gave 
him  what  he  had  need  of,  recommending  him  to  ask,  for  the 
future,  instead  of  taking,  and  saying  tliat  he  would  rather 
make  him  presents  than  he  rohhed  by  him.  Who  can  express 
the  perfect  humility  of  this  tnan,  the  prompt  mercy,  the  holy 
simplicity,  patience,  and  forbearance  !'" 

If  we  desire  examples  of  the  development  of  sensibility 
ulone,  without  any  precise  application,  without  any  beneficial 
or  direct  result,  the  life  of  Saint  Rusticula,  abbess  of  the  mo. 
nastery  that  Saint  Cesaire  had  founded  at  Aries,  will  furnish 
us  with  two  which  seem  to  me  to  have  a  lively  interest.  Saint 
Rusticula  was  born  in  Provence,  in  the  territory  of  Vaison  : 
her  parents  had  already  one  son 

"  One  night,  when  her  mother  Clemence  was  asleep,  she 
saw  herself,  in  a  dream,  nursing,  with  great  affection,  two 
small  doves,  one  as  white  as  snow,  the  other  of  a  mixed  color. 
As  slie  occupied  herself  about  them  with  much  pleasure  and 
tenderness,  she  thought  tliat  her  servants  came  to  tell  her  that 
Saint  Cesaire,  bishop  of  Aries,  was  at  her  gate.  Hearing 
this,  and  delighted  at  the  arrival  of  the  saint,  she  ran  joyfully 
to  him,  and  eagerly  saluting  him,  humbly  prayed  him  to 
grant  to  her  house  the  blessing  of  his  presence.  He  entered, 
and  blessed  her.  After  having  done  him  the  due  honors,  she 
prayed  him  to  take  some  nourishment,  but  he  answered — 
'  My  daughter,  I  only  desire  thee  to  give  me  this  dove,  which 
I  have  seen  thee  rearing  so  carefully.'  Hesitating  within 
herself,  she  thought  whence  he  could  know  that  she  had  this 
dove;  and  she  denied  that  she  possessed  anything  of  the  kind. 
He  then  answered — '  Before  God,  I  tell  thee  I  will  not  leave 
this  place  till  thou  grant  me  my  request.'  She  could  no 
longer  excuse  herself;  she  showed  her  doves,  and  offered 
ihern  to  the  holy  man.  He  joyfully  took  that  which  was  of 
B  brilliant  white,  and,  congratulating  himself,  put  it  into  his 


'Life  of  Saint  Sulpicius,  §  28  and  29,  in  the  Acta   Sand.  Ord    F 
hen.,  vol.  ii.,  p.  175 


548  HISTOEY    OF 

bosom ;  and  after  taking  leave  of  her,  he  departed.  VVher 
she  awoke,  she  reflected  upon  what  all  this  signified,  and  slie 
sought  in  her  soul  why  he  who  was  no  more  had  appeared  to 
her.  She  knew  not  that  Christ  had  chosen  her  daughter  in 
marriage,  he  who  has  said,  '  A  city  that  is  set  on  a  hill  can- 
not  be  hid.  Neilhei  do  men  light  a  candle,  and  put  it  under 
a  bushel,  but  on  a  candlestick,  and  it  giveth  light  unto  all  that 
are  in  the  house.' '" 

There  is  certainly  nothing  remarkable  in  the  incidents  of 
this  account  j  the  foundation  is  little  conformable  to  natural 
sentiments,  since  it  is  concerning  a  daughter  being  taken 
from  her  motiier ;  and  yet  there  reigns  in  i  a  general  tinge 
of  sensibility,  of  sweet  and  lively  tenderness,  wifich  penetrates 
even  into  the  allegory  by  which  this  sacrifice  is  asked  of  the 
mother,  and  sheds  much  charm  and  grace  over  it. 

Saint  Rusticula  governed  her  abbey  with  great  success,  and 
especially  inspired  a  deep  aflection  in  her  nuns :  in  632  she 
was  ill,  and  near  to  deatii : 

"  It  happened  one  Friday,  that  after  having,  according  to 
her  custom,  sung  the  vespers  with  her  daughters,  and  feeling 
fatigued,  she  went  beyond  her  powers  in  giving  her  accus- 
tomed reading :  she  knew  that  she  only  went  quicker  to  the 
Lord.  The  Saturday  morning  she  was  rather  cold,  and  had 
lost  all  strength  in  her  limbs.  Then  lying  down  in  her  little 
bed,  she  was  seized  with  a  severe  fever :  she,  however,  did  not 
cease  to  praise  God,  and,  fixing  her  eyes  on  heaven,  she  re- 
commended to  his  care  her  daughters,  whom  she  left  orphans, 
and,  with  a  firm  voice,  consoled  those  who  wept  around  her. 
On  the  Sunday  she  found  herself  worse ;  and  as  it  was  cus- 
tomary  to  make  her  bed  only  once  a  year,  the  servants  of  God 
asked  her  to  allow  herself  a  rather  softer  couch,  in  order  to 
spare  her  body  so  rough  a  fatigue ;  but  she  would  not  consent 
thereto.  On  Monday,  the  day  of  Saint  Lawrence  the  martyr, 
she  still  lost  strength,  and  her  chest  made  a  great  noise.  To 
this  sight  the  sorrowful  vi -gins  of  Christ  answered  with  tears 
and  sighs.  As  it  was  the  third  hour  of  the  day,  and  as,  in  its 
affliction,  the  nuns  read  the  psalms  in  silence,  tiie  holy  mother 
asked  why  she  did  not  hear  the  psalms:  the  nuns  answered 
they  could  not  sing  by  reason  of  their  sorrow :  '  Sing  still 


«  Life  of  Saint  Rusticula,  §  3,  in  the  ^cta  Sanct.  Ord.  S.  5e;i.,  v.J 
ii..  p.  14(: 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  340 

ouder,'  said  she,  'that  I  may  receive  the  help  of  it,  for  it  is 
eery  sweet  to  me.'  The  following  day,  when  her  body  was 
nlmost  without  motion,  her  eyes,  which  preserved  their  vigor, 
siill  shone  like  Ftars,  and  looking  on  all  sides,  and  being  una- 
ble fo  speak,  she  imposed  silence  with  her  hand,  on  those 
r/ho  wept,  and  gave  them  consolation.  When  one  of  the 
sisters  touched  her  feet  to  see  if  hey  were  warm  or  cold, 
she  said  :  '  It  is  not  yet  the  hour.'  But  shortly  after,  at  the 
sixth  hour  of  the  day,  with  a  serene  countenance,  with  eyes 
shining,  and  as  if  she  smiled,  this  glorious,  blest  soul,  passed 
.0  heaven,  and  associated  with  the  innumerable  choirs  of 
saints.'" 

I  know  not  if  any  of  you  have  ever  opened  a  collection, 
entitled  Memoires  pour  servir  a,  VBisloire  de  Port  Royal,^ 
which  contains  the  account  of  the  life  and  death  of  the  prin- 
cipal nuns  of  that  celebrated  abbey  ;  among  others,  of  the 
two  Angelique  Arnaulds,  who  successively  governed  it.  Port- 
Royal,  the  branch  for  women  as  well  as  that  for  men,  was, 
as  you  know,  the  asylum  for  the  most  ardent,  the  most  inde- 
pendent souls,  as  well  as  for  the  most  elevated  minds,  that 
honored  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  Perhaps  human  sensibility 
is  nowhere  displayed  with  more  richness  and  energy  than  in 
the  moral  history  of  these  pious  women,  of  whom  many 
shared  at  once  the  intellectual  development  of  Nicolle  and 
of  Pascal.  Well ;  the  recital  of  their  last  moments  a  good 
deal  resembles  what  I  have  just  read :  we  find  there  the  same 
emotions  of  piety  and  friendship,  almost  the  same  language  ; 
and  the  sensible  nature  of  mankind  appears  to  us,  in  the 
seventh  century,  almost  as  lively,  and  as  developed,  as  that 
of  the  seventeenth  amidst  the  most  passionate  characters  of 
the  age. 

I  might  greatly  multiply  these  examples  ;  but  we  must 
proceed.     I  have  some  to  present  to  you  of  another  kind. 

Independently  of  the  satisfaction  which  they  gave  to  mo- 
rality and  human  sensibility,  the  condition  of  which  in  the 
external  world  was  so  bad,  the  legends  also  corresponded  to 
other  faculties,  to  other  wants.  Much  is  at  present  said  con. 
cerning  the  interest,  the  movement  which,  in  the  course  of 
what  is  vaguely  called  the  middle  ages,  animated  the  life  of 


'  Life  of  Saint  Rusticula,  §  31,  p.  14' 
'Three  vols.,  12mo.     Utrecht,  1742. 


350  HISTORY    OF 

nations.  It  seems  that  great  adventures,  spectacles  and  re. 
citals  incessantly  excited  the  imagination  ;  that  society  was  a 
thousand  times  more  varied  and  amusing  tlian  it  is  among 
us.  It  may  have  been  so  for  some  men  placed  in  the  superior 
ranks,  or  thrown  into  peculiar  situations  ;  but  for  ti»e  mass  of 
ihe  population,  life  was,  on  the  contrary,  prodigiously  monoto- 
nous, insipid,  wearisome  ;  its  destiny  went  on  in  the  same 
place,  the  same  scenes  were  produced  before  the  eyes  j  there 
was  scarcely  any  external  movement,  still  less  movement  of 
mind  ;  its  pleasures  were  as  few  as  its  blessings,  and  the  con- 
dition of  its  intellect  was  not  more  agreeable  than  its  physical 
existence.  It  nowhere  so  much  as  in  the  lives  of  tiie  saints, 
found  nourishment  for  this  activity  of  imagination,  this  incli- 
nation  for  novelty,  for  adventures,  which  exercises  so  much 
influence  over  men.  The  legends  were  to  the  Christians  of 
this  age  (let  me  be  allowed  this  purely  literary  coniparison), 
what  those  long  accounts,  those  brilliant  and  varied  histories, 
of  which  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights  gives  us  a  specimen, 
were  to  the  Orientals.  It  was  there  that  the  popular  imagi- 
nation wandered  freely  in  an  unknown,  marvellous  world,  full 
of  movement  and  poetry.  It  is  dillicult  for  us,  in  the  present 
day,  to  share  the  pleasure  which  was  taken  in  them  twelve 
centuries  since ;  the  habits  of  mind  have  changed  ;  distrac- 
tions beset  us:  but  we  may  at  least  understand  tiiat  there  was 
therein  a  source  of  powerful  interest  for  this  literature.  In 
the  immense  number  of  adventures  and  scenes  with  which  it 
charmed  the  Christian  people,  I  have  selected  two  which 
will  perhaps  give  yoi  some  idea  of  the  kind  of  attraction 
which  they  had  for  it  The  first  is  taken  from  the  life  of 
Saint  Seine  (Saint  Seqaanus),  the  founder  in  the  sixth  cen- 
tury of  the  abbey  in  Burgundy,  which  took  his  name,  and 
it  describes  the  incident  which  induced  him  to  select  its  site  : 
"  When  Seine  found  himself — thanks  to  his  laudable  zeal 
— well  instructed  in  the  dogmas  of  the  divine  scriptures,  and 
learned  in  monastical  rules,  lie  sought  a  place  suited  for 
building  a  monastery ;  as  he  went   over  all  tiie  neighboring 

[)laces,  and  communicated  his  project  to  all  his  friends,  one  of 
lis  relations,  Tiuolaif,  said  to  him  :  '  Since  thou  interrogatest 
Tie,  I  will  point  out  a  certain  place  wliere  thou  mayest  estau- 
llsh  tliyself,  if  what  thou  desires!  to  do  is  inspired  by  the  love 
ot  God.  There  is  an  estate  which,  if  I  do  not  deceive  my- 
Bcif,  belongs  to  me  by  hereditary  riglit  ;  but  the  peo|)le  around 
feed  themselves,  like  ferocious  beasts,  with  human  blood  and 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  351 

.losh;  this  renders  it  diiTicult  to  go  among  tl.nm,  unless  one 
pays  a  troop  of  armed  men.'  The  blessed  Seine  answered 
him  :  *  Show  me  the  phice,  to  the  end  that  if  my  desires  have 
heen  conceived  by  a  divine  instinct,  all  the  ferocily  of  thcso 
men  may  be  changed  into  the  mildness  of  the  dove.'  Hav 
ing,  therefore,'  taken  his  companions,  he  arrived  at  the  place 
of  which  tliey  had  spoken.  It  was  a  forest,  the  trees  of 
which  almost  touched  the  clouds,  and  whose  solitude  had  not 
for  a  long  time  been  interrupted  :  they  asked  themselves  how 
they  couTd  penetrate  into  it,  when  tiiey  saw  a  winding  foot- 
path,  so  narrow,  and  full  of  briars,  that  they  couhl  -scarcely 
place  their  feet  upon  the  same  line,  and  from  the  thickness  of 
the  branches,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  one  foot  followed  the 
other.  However  with  much  labor,  and  having  their  clothes 
torn,  they  got  into  the  depths  of  this  rough  forest ;  then,  bend- 
ing towards  the  ground,  they  began  to  watch  the  profound 
darkness  with  an  attentive  eye. 

"  Having  for  some  time  looked  with  attention,  they  per- 
ceived very  narrow  openings  to  a  cavern,  obstructed  by  stonea 
and  plants;  besides  which,  the  interlaced  branches  of  the 
trees  rendered  the  cavern  so  dark,  that  wild  beasts  themselves 
would  have  hesitated  to  enter  it.  This  was  the  cavern  of  the 
robbers,  and  the  resort  of  unclean  spirits.  When  they  ap- 
preached  it,  Seine,  agreeable  to  God,  bent  his  knees  at  the 
entry,  and  extending  his  body  over  the  bushes,  addressed  a 
prayer  to  God,  mixed  with  tears,  saying—'  Lord,  who  hast 
made  Heaven  and  earth,  which  thou  givest  to  the  wishes  of 
him  who  implores  thee,  and  who  originatest  all  good,  and 
without  whom  all  the  weak  efForts  of  humanity  are  useless, 
if  thou  orderest  me  to  live  in  this  solitude,  make  the  same 
known  unto  me,  and  lead  to  good  the  beginnings  which  thou 
hast  granted  to  my  devotion.'  When  he  had  finished  hia 
prayer,  he  arose,  and  raised  his  hands  towards  heaven,  and 
his  eye's,  which  were  moist  with  tears.  Knowing  then  that  i' 
was  under  the  conduct  of  the  Saviour  that  he  had  repaired 
into  this  dark  forest,  after  having  blessed  the  place,  he  imme- 
diately  set  about  placing  the  foundations  of  a  cell  where  he 
had  kneeled  to  pray.  The  report  of  his  arrival  came  to  the 
ears  of  the  neighboring  inhabitants,  who,  each  exhorting  the 
other,  and  impelled  by  a  divine  movement,  repaired  near  him. 
When  they  had  seen  him,  from  wolves  they  became  lambs, 
so  that  those  who  were  formerly  a  source  of  terror  wert 
henceforth  ministers  of  help  ;  and,  from  that  time,  this  place, 


352  HISTORY   OF 

wnich  was  the  resort  for  divers  cruel  demons  and  robbers, 
became  the  abode  of  innocents."' 

Should  we  not  suppose  that  we  were  reading  the  accoun 
of  the  establishment  of  some  colonists  in  the  heart  of  the  most 
distant  forests  of  America,  or  of  some  pious  missionaries 
amidst  the  most  savage  hordes  ? 

Here  is  an  account  of  a  different  character,  but  which  is  no 
less  full  of  movement  and  inteiest. 

Still  young,  and  before  entering  inio  the  ecclesiastical  order^ 
Saint  Austregesilus,  bishop  of  Bourges,  at  the  commencement 
of  the  seventh  century,  manifested  a  lively  desire  to  forsake 
the  world,  and  not  to  marry. 

"  Hearing  him  speak  thus,  his  parents  began  to  press  him 
earnestly  to  obey  them  in  this  respect.  He,  in  order  that  he 
might  not  see  them  discontented,  whom  he  desired  to  see 
satisfied,  promised  to  do  as  they  asked  him,  if  such  was  the 
will  of  God. 

"  When,  therefore,  he  was  occupied  in  the  king's  service, 
he  began  to  return  to  this  business,  and  to  seek  what  would 
best  befit  him  to  do.  He  recollected  three  men  of  the  same 
nation,  and  of  equal  fortune.  He  wrote  their  names  upon 
three  tablets,  and  put  them  under  the  cover  of  the  altar  in  the 
cathedral  of  Saint  John,  near  the  town  of  Cliulons,  and  made 
a  vow  to  pass  three  nights  in  prayer  without  sleeping.  After 
the  three  nights,  ho  was  to  put  his  hands  upon  the  altar,  tak- 
ing  the  tablet  which  the  Lord  should  deign  to  make  him  find 
first,  and  demand  in  marriage  the  daughter  of  the  man  whose 
name  should  be  upon  the  tablet.  After  having  passed  one 
night  without  sleep,  the  next  night  he  found  himself  overcome 
by  it,  and  towards  the  middle  of  the  night,  unable  to  resist 
any  longer,  his  limbs  gave  way,  and  he  fell  asleep  upon  a 
seat.  Two  old  men  presented  themselves  to  his  view.  One 
said  to  the  other  :  '  Whose  daughter  is  Austregesilus  to  mar- 
ry V  The  other  answered :  '  Art  thou  ignorant  that  he  is 
already  married  ?'  '  To  whom  ?'  '  To  the  daughter  of  judge 
Just.'  Austregesilus  then  awoke,  and  applied  himself  to 
finding  out  who  this  Just  was,  of  what  place  he  was  judge, 
and  if  he  had  a  virgin  daughter.  As  he  could  not  find  him, 
he  repaired,  according   to  custom,  to  the  king's  palace.     He 


'  Life  of  Saint  Seine,  §  7  and  8.     Mia  Sand.  Ord   S.  Ben.ViA  i  , 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  355 

arrived  in  a  village  where  there  was  an  inn.     Some  travel 
.ers  were  assembled  there,  among  others,  a  poor  veteran  with 
his  wife.     When  this  woman  saw  Austregcsilus,  she  said  to 
him  : 

"  •  Stranger,  stop  an  instant,  and  I  will  tell  thee  what  I  have 
lately  seen  concerning  thee  in  a  dream ;  it  appeared  as  if  I 
heard  a  great  noise,  like  that  of  the  singing  of  psalms,  and  I 
said  to  my  host :  "Man,  what  is  this  that  I  hear  ?  what  festi- 
val is  now  being  celebrated  by  the  priests,  that  they  make 
this  procession  ?"  He  answered  :  "Our  guest  Austrcgesilus 
is  being  married."  Full  of  joy,  1  was  eager  to  sec  the  young 
bride,  and  to  view  her  face  and  form.  When  the  priests, 
clothed  in  white,  carrying  crosses,  and  singing  psalms  in  the 
usual  manner,  were  passed,  thou  earnest  out,  and  all  the  peo- 
ple followed  behind  ;  for  me,  I  looked  with  curiosity,  and  I 
saw  no  woman,  not  even  the  girl  whom  thou  wert  to  marry  ; 
I  said  to  thy  host:  "  Where  is  the  virgin  whom  Austregesilus 
is  to  marry  ?"  he  answered  :  "  Do  you  not  see  her  in  his 
hands  ?"  I  looked,  and  I  only  saw  in  thy  hands  the  book  of 
the  gospel.'  Then  the  saint  understood  by  his  vision  and  the 
dream  of  this  woman,  that  the  voice  of  God  called  him  to  the 
priesthood.'" 

Tliorc  is  hero  no  miracle,  properly  so  called  ;  all  is  confined 
to  dreams;  but  you  see  what  movement  of  imagination  is 
connected  with  all  the  sentiment,  with  all  the  incidents  of  a 
religious  life,  and  with  what  eagerness  the  people  received 
them. 

These  are  the  true  sources  of  this  literature ;  it  gave  to  the 
moral,  physical,  and  poetical  nature  of  man,  a  nourishment,  a 
satisfaction  which  it  found  nowhere  else  ;  it  elevated  and  agi- 
tated his  soul ;  it  animated  his  life.  Hence  its  fertility  and 
its  credit. 

If  it  were  our  purpose  to  consider  it  under  a  purely  literary 
point  of  view,  we  should  find  its  merits  neither  very  brilliant 
nor  very  varied.  Truth  of  sentiment  and  naivete  of  tone  are 
not  wanting  to  it ;  it  is  devoid  of  affectation  and  pedantry.  The 
narrative  is  not  only  interesting,  but  it  is  often  conceived  under 
a  rather  dramatic  form.  In  the  eastern  countries,  where  the 
charm  of  narration  is  great;  the  dramatic  form  is  rare  ;  we 


'  Life  of  Snint  ^"istregesil  83,  §  2,  in  the  ^eta  Sanct  Ord   S.  Beit, 
Tul.  ii.,  p.  95. 


354  HISTORY    OF 

there  meet  with  few  conversations,  few  dialogues,  with  litile 
getting  up,  properly  speaking.  There  is  much  more  of  this 
in  the  legends  ;  dialogue  is  there  habitual,  and  often  progresses 
with  nature  and  vivacity.  But  we  should  in  vain  seek  a  little 
order  in  them,  any  art  of  composition ;  even  for  the  least  ex- 
acting minds,  the  confusion  is  extreme,  the  monotony  great ; 
credulity  continually  descends  to  the  ridiculous,  and  the  lan- 
guage has  arrived  at  a  degree  of  imperfection,  of  corruption, 
of  coarseness,  which,  in  the  present  day,  pains  and  wearies  the 
.'"eader. 

I  wish  to  say  a  kw  words  also  on  a  portion  (very  inconsider- 
able, it  is  true,  but  which,  however,  I  ought  not  to  omit)  of  the 
literature  of  this  period,  that  is,  its  profane  literature.  I  have 
observed  that,  dating  from  the  sixth  century,  sacred  literature 
was  alone,  that  all  profane  literature  had  disappeared ;  there 
were,  however,  some  remains  of  it ;  certain  chronicles,  certain 
occasional  poems  which  belonged  not  to  religious  society,  and 
which  merit  a  moment's  attention.  .In  our  next  lecture,  I  shall 
present  to  you,  on  some  of  those  monuments  so  little  known  in 
the  present  day,  developments  which  appear  to  me  not  unin- 
teresting 


CIVIUZATION    IN    FRANCR.  356 


EIGHTEENTH  LECTURE. 

*  n.e  wrecks  .if  profane  literature  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  centuij 
—Of  their  true  character— 1st,  Prose  writers— Gregory  of  Tours— 
His  life— His  Ecclesiastical  History  of  the  Franks— The.  influencfl 
of  the  ancient  Latin  literature  unites  with  that  of  the  Christian  doc- 
trincg— Mixture  of  civil  and  rtMgious  history  — Fr^degaire-Hi.s 
Chronicle— 2i\\y ,  Poets— Saint  Avitus,  bishop  of  Vienne— His  life— 
His  poems  on  the  Creation— Original  sin— The  condemnation  of  man 
—The  Deluge— The  passage  of  the  Red  Sea— The  praise  of  virginity 
—Comparison  of  the  three  first  with  the  Paradise  Lost  of  Milton— 
Forlunatus,  bishop  of  Poictiers— His  life— His  relations  with  Saint 
Radcgonde— His  poems— Their  character— First  origin  of  French 
literature. 

I  MENTIONED  in  ouf  last  lecture  that  we  should  now  occupy 
ourselves  with  the  wrecks  of  profane  literature,  scattered  here 
and  there,  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century,  amidst  ser- 
mons, legends,  theological  dissertations,  and  escaping  from  the 
universal  triumph  of  sacred  literature.  I  shall,  perhaps,  be  a 
little  embarrassed  with  my  promise,  and  with  this  word  profane, 
which  I  have  applied  to  the  works  of  which  I  mean  to  speak. 
It  seems  to  say,  in  fact,  that  their  authors  or  their  subjects  are 
of  a  lay  character,  tliat  they  belong  not  to  the  religious  sphere. 
Yet,  see  the  names  of  the  writings,  and  of  the  authors.  There 
are  two  prose  writers,  and  two  poets :  the  prose  writers  are 
Gregory  of  Tours,  and  Fredegaire ;  the  poets.  Saint  Avitus, 
and  Fortunatus.  Of  these  four  men,  three  were  bishops: 
Gregory  at  Tours,  Saint  Avitus  at  Vienne,  and  Fortunatus  at 
Poictiers ;  all  tliree  were  canonized  ;  the  fourth,  Fredegaire, 
was  probably  a  monk.  With  regard  to  the  persons,  there  can 
scarcely  be  anything  less  profane  ;  assuredly  they  belong  tn 
sacred  literature.  As  regards  the  works  themselves,  that  of 
Gregory  of  Tours  bears  tfie  title  of  Ecclesiastical  HiMory  of 
the  Franks  ;  that  of  FrfSdegaire  is  a  simple  clironicle  ;  the 
poems  of  Saint  Avitus  turn  upon  the  Creation,  Original  Sin, 
the  Expulsion  from  Paradise,  the  Deluge,  the  Passage  of  the 
Red  Sea,  the  Praise  of  Virginity ;  and  although  in  thost7  of 
Fortunatus  many  treat  of  the  incidents  of  a  worldly  life,  as 
the  marriage  of  Sigebert  and  Brunehault,  the  departure  of 
43 


356  HISTORY    OF 

queen  Galsuinthe,  (Stc,  still  the  greater  part  relate  to  religijua 
events  or  interests,  as  the  dedications  of  cathedrals,  the  praise 
of  saints  or  bishops,  the  feasts  of  the  church,  &i,c.,  so  that,  to 
judge  by  appearances,  the  subjects  as  well  as  the  authors  enter 
into  sacred  literature,  and  it  seems  that  there  is  notiiing  to 
which  the  name  of  profane  can  be  suitable 

I  might  easily  allege  that  some  of  these  writers  were  net 
always  ecclesiastics  ;  that  Fortunatus,  for  example,  for  a  long 
time  lived  a  layman ;  that  many  of  his  poems  date  from  this 
period  of  his  life.  It  is  not  certain  that  Fr^ddgaire  was  a 
monk.  Gregory  of  Tours  formally  expressed  his  intention 
of  mixing  the  sacred  and  the  profane  in  his  histc  y.  But 
ihese  would  be  poor  reasons.  I  had  far  rather  admit  that,  in 
some  respects,  the  works  I  inte:id  to  speak  of  at  present  belong 
to  sacred  literature  ;  and  still  I  maintain  what  I  have  said  ; 
they  belong  to  profane  literature  ;  they  bore  its  character  in 
more  than  one  respect,  and  they  should  bear  its  name.  And 
here  is  the  reason  : 

I  have  just  passed  before  you  the  two  principal  kinds  of  the 
sacred  literature  of  this  epoch,  on  one  hand  sermons,  on  the 
other,  legends.  Nothing  of  this  kind  had  existed  in  antiquity  ; 
neither  the  Greek  nor  Latin  literature  furnished  a  model  ol 
similar  compositions.  They  took  their  rise  from  Ciirisliauity 
— from  tlie  religious  doctrines  of  the  age;  they  were  original  ; 
they  constituted  a  new  and  truly  religious  literature,  tor  it  had 
no  impress  of  ancient  literature,  of  the  profane  world,  neither 
in  form  nor  groundwork. 

The  works  of  which  I  am  about  to  speak  are  of  another 
nature:  the  authors  and  the  subjects  are  religious,  but  the 
character  of  the  compositions,  the  manner  in  which  they  are  con- 
ceived and  executed,  belong  not  to  tiie  new  religious  literature  ; 
the  influence  of  pagan  antiquity  is  clearly  shown  in  them  ; 
we  incessantly  find  there  the  imitation  of  the  Greek  or  Latin 
writers ;  it  is  visible  in  the  turn  of  the  imagination  ;  in  tiic 
forms  of  the  language  ;  it  is  sometimes  direct  and  avowed. 
This  is  nothing  like  that  truly  new  Christian  mind,  li)riign, 
even  hostile,  to  all  ancient  recollections,  which  is  visible  in  th(! 
sermons  and  legends ;  here,  on  the  contrary,  and  even  in  the 
most  religious  subjects,  one  feels  the  traditions,  the  intellectual 
cu.stoms  of  the  pagan  world,  a  certain  desire  to  be  connected 
with  profane  literature,  to  preserve  and  reproduce  its  jnerit.s. 
It  is  hence  that  the  name  is  applied  correctly  to  the  works  of 
which  I  speak,  and  that  they  form  in  the  literature  from   thn 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  357 

sixth  to  the  eighth  century  a  separate  class,  which,  in  a  mea- 
sure,  unites  the  two  epoclis,  the  two  societies,  and  claims  espe. 
cial  inquiry. 

Let  us  pass  in  review  the  four  writers  I  have  just  nanned . 
jvo  shall  recognize  this  characteristic  in  their  writings. 

I  begin  by  the  prose  writers,  and  by  Gregory  of  Tours,  in. 
contestably  the  most  celebrated. 

You  will  recollect  whether  historical  compositions  had  fallen 
in  the  Roman  empire:  high  history,  the  poetical,  political, 
philosophical  history,  that  of  Livy,  that  of  I'olyhius,  and  that 
of  Tf.citus,  had  equally  vanished  ;  they  could  only  keep  a 
register,  more  or  less  exact,  more  or  less  complete,  of  events 
and  men,  without  retracing  their  concatenation  or  moral  cha- 
racter, without  uniting  them  to  the  life  of  the  state,  without 
3eeking  therein  the  emotions  of  the  drama,  or  of  the  true 
epopee.  History,  in  a  word,  was  no  more  than  a  chronicle. 
The  last  Latin  historians,  Lampridius,  Vopiscus,  Eutropius, 
Ammianus  Marcellinus  himself,  are  all  mere  chroniclers. 
The  chronicle  is  the  last  form  under  which  history  presents 
itself  in  the  profane  literature  of  antiquity. 

It  is  likewise  under  this  form  that  it  re-appears  in  the  rising 
Christian  literature;  the  first  Christian  chroniclers,  Gregory 
of  Tours  among  others,  did  nothing  but  imitate  and  perpetuate 
their  pagan  predecessors. 

George  Florentius,  who  took  the  name  of  Gregory  from  his 
great  grandfather,  bishop  of  Langres,  was  born  on  the  3d  of 
November,  5.39,  in  Auvergne,  in  the  bosom  of  one  of  those 
families  which  called  themselves  senatorial,  and  which  formed 
the  decaying  aristocracy  of  the  country.  The  one  to  which 
he  belonged  was  noble  in  the  civil  and  the  religious  order :  he 
had  many  illustrious  bishops  for  ancestors  and  relations,  and 
he  was  descended  from  a  senator  of  Bourges,  Vettius  Epaga- 
tus,  one  of  the  first  and  most  glorious  martyrs  of  Christianity 
in  Gaul.  It  appears  (and  this  fact  is  so  commonly  met  with 
in  the  liistory  of  celebrated  men,  that  it  becomes  matter  of 
suspicion),  it  appears  that  from  his  infancy,  his  intellectual  and 
pious  tendencies,  he  attracted  the  attention  of  all  around  him, 
and  that  he  was  brought  up  with  particular  care  as  the  hope 
of  his  family  and  of  the  church,  among  others,  by  his  uncle, 
Saint  Nizier,  bisliop  of  Lyons,  Saint  Gal,  bishop  of  Clermont, 
and  Saint  Avitus,  his  successor.  He  had  very  ill  health,  and, 
already  ordained  deacon,  he  made  a  journey  to  Tours,  in 
the  hope  of  being  cured  at  the  tomb  of  Saint  Martin.     He  wua 


358  HISTORY    OF 

actually  cured,  and  he  returned  to  his  country.  We  find  hini, 
in  573,  lit  tne  court  of  Sigebert  I.,  king  of  Austrasia,  to  whom 
Auvergne  belonged.  lie  received  news  that  the  clergy  and 
people  of  Tours,  doubtless  struck  with  his  merits  during  the 
sojourn  which  he  had  made  among  them,  had  just  elected  him 
bishop.  After  some  hesitatici,  he  consented,  was  consecrated 
on  the  22d  of  August  by  the  bishop  of  Reims,  and  immediately 
repaired  to  Tours,  where  he  passed  the  rest  of  his  life. 

He,  however,  often  left  it ;  and  even  on  aftairs  foreign  to 
fhose  of  the  church.  Gontran,  king  of  Burgundy,  and  Cliil- 
debert  II.  king  of  Austrasia,  employed  him  as  a  negotiator  in 
their  long  quarrels  ;  we  find  him  in  585  and  in  588,  travelling 
from  one  court  to  another  to  reconcile  the  two  kings.  He 
appeared  likewise  at  the  council  of  Paris,  held  in  577,  to 
judge  Pretextat,  archbishop  of  Rouen,  whom  Chilpoi  c  and 
Fr6degonde  wished  to  expel,  and  whom  in  fact  they  did  expel 
from  his  diocese. 

In  his  various  missions,  and  especially  at  the  council  of 
Paris,  Gregory  of  Tonrs  conducted  himself  with  more  inde- 
^ndence,  good  sense,  and  equity,  than  was  evinced  by  many 
other  bishops.  Doubtless,  he  was  credulous,  superstitious, 
devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  clergy  :  still  few  ecclesiastics  of 
his  time  had  a  devotion,  I  will  nut  say  as  enlightened,  but  less 
blind,  and  kept  to  so  reasonable  a  line  of  conduct  in  what  con- 
cerned  the  church. 

In  592,  according  to  his  biographer,  Odo  of  Cluny,  who 
wrote  his  life  in  the  tenth  century,  he  made  a  journey  to 
Rome  to  see  pope  Gregory  the  Great.  The  fact  is  doubtful, 
and  of  little  interest :  still  the  account  of  Odo  of  Cluny  con- 
tains  a  rather  piquant  anecdote,  and  one  which  proves  what  a 
high  estimation  Gregory  and  his  contemporary  were  held  in 
at  the  tenth  century.  He  was,  as  I  have  said,  remarkably 
weak  and  puny. 

"  Arrived  in  the  presence  of  the  pontiff,"  says  his  biogra. 
phers,  "  he  kneeled  and  prayed.  The  pontiff,  who  was  of  a 
wise  and  deep  mind,  admired  within  himself  the  secret  dis- 
pensations of  God,  who  had  placed  so  many  divine  graces  in 
so  small  and  puny  a  body.  The  bishop,  internally  advised, 
by  the  will  on  high,  of  the  thought  of  tlie  pontilf.  aiose,  and 
regarding  him  with  a  tranquil  air,  said  to  him  :  '  It  is  the  Lord 
who  makes  us,  and  not  ourselves  ;  it  is  the  same  with  the 
great  and  with  tlie  small.'  The  holy  pope  seeing  that  ho 
thus  answered  to  his  thought,  conceived  a  iireut  veneratiop 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  059 

for  him,  and  took  so  much  to  heart  the  dignifying  of  the  see 
of  Tours,  that  he  presented  a  chair  of  gold  to  it,  which  is  still 
preserved  in  that  church.'" 

Close  upon  his  return  from  his  journey  to  Rome,  if  it  is 
true  that  he  made  one,  Gregory  died  at  Tours,  the  17th  of 
November,  .593,  very  much  regretted  in  his  diocese,  and  cele- 
brated throughout  western  Christendom,  where  his  works 
were  already  spread.  That  which  interests  us  most  in  the 
present  day  was  certainly  not  at  that  time  the  most  ardently 
sought  for.  lie  composed,  1st,  a  treatise  of  the  Gloiy  of  the 
Martyrs,  a  collection  of  legends,  in  one  hundred  and  seven 
chapters,  devoted  to  the  recital  of  the  miracles  of  martyrs  ; 
2.  A  treatise  on  the  Glory  of  the  Confessors,  in  one  hundred 
and  twelve  chapters  ;  3.  A  collection,  entitled.  Lives  of  the 
Fathers,  in  twenty  chapters,  and  which  contains  the  history 
of  twenty-two  saints,  of  both  sexes,  of  the  Gaulish  church  • 
4.  A  treatise  on  the  Miracles  of  Saint  Julianiis,  bishop  of 
Brioude,  in  fifty  chapters  ;  5.  A  treatise  on  the  Miracles  of 
Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  in  four  books  ;  6.  A  treatise  on  the 
Miracles  of  Saint  Andreio.  These  were  the  WTitings  which 
rendered  his  name  so  popular.  They  have  no  aistinguishing 
merit  amid  the  crowd  of  legends,  and  nothing  which  requires 
us  to  stop  at  them. 

The  great  work  of  the  bishop  of  Tours,  that  which  has 
brought  his  name  down  to  us,  is  his  Ecclesiastical  History  of 
the  Franks.  The  mere  title  of  the  book  is  remarkable,  for  il 
j)oinis  out  its  character  to  be  at  once  civil  and  religious  ;  the 
author  did  not  wish  to  write  a  history  of  the  church  merely, 
nor  of  the  Franks  alone ;  he  thought  that  the  destinies  of  thf 
laity  and  those  of  the  clergy  should  not  be  separated. 

He  says,  "  I  shall  indiscriminately  combine,  and  without 
any  other  order  than  that  of  time,  the  virtues  of  the  saints  and 
the  disasters  of  the  people.  I  am  not  of  opinion  that  it  should 
be  regarded  as  unreasonable  to  mix  the  felicities  of  the  blessed 
with  the  calamities  of  the  miserable  in  the  account,  not  for 
the  convenience  of  the  writer,  but  in  order  to  conform  with 
the  progress  of  events  ....  Eusebius,  Severus,  Jerome,  anrl 
Orosius,  have  mixed  up  in  like  manner  in  their  chronicles, 
the  wars  of  kings  and  the  virtues  of  martyrs."* 


'   Vita  S.  Gregorii,  &c.,  by  Odo,  abbot  of  Cluny,  §  24. 
'  Gregory  of  Tours,  Tol.  i.,  p.  39,  in  my  Collection  des  Mimobet  ttn 
r  Hiatoire  de  France. 


860  HISTOKY    OF 

1  shall  have  recourse  to  no  other  testimony  than  that  of 
Gregory  of  Tours  himself,  for  distinguishing  in  his  work  that 
influence  of  ancient  literature,  that  mixture  of  profane  and 
sacred  letters,  which  I  pointed  out  at  the  beginning.  He  pro- 
tests liis  contempt  for  all  pagan  traditions  j  he  eagerly  repudi- 
ates  all  heritage  of  the  world  in  which  they  reigned. 

"  I  no  not  occupy  myself,"  he  says,  "  with  the  flight  of 
Saturn,  nor  the  rage  of  Juno,  nor  the  adulteries  of  Jupiter; 
I  desj)ise  all  such  things  which  go  to  ruin,  and  apply  myself 
far  rather  to  Divine  things,  to  the  miracles  of  the  gospel.'" 

And  elsewhere,  in  the  Preface  of  his  history,  we  read  :— 

"  The  cultivation  of  letters  and  the  liberal  sciences  were 
declining,  were  perishing  in  the  cities  of  Gaul,  amidst  the 
good  and  evil  actions  which  were  then  committed  ;  while  the 
barbarians  abandoned  theiiiselves  to  their  ferocity,  and  the 
kings  to  their  fury,  while  the  churches  were  alternately  en- 
riched by  pious  men,  and  robbed  by  the  infidels,  we  find  no 
grammarian  able  in  the  an  of  logic,  who  undertook  to  de- 
scribe these  things  either  in  prose  or  verse.  Many  men 
accordingly  groan,  saying  •  '  Ui>*>appy  are  we  !  the  study  ol 
letters  perishes  among  us,  and  we  find  no  person  who  can 
describe  in  his  writings  present  facts.'  Seeing  this,  I  have 
thought  it  advisable  to  preserve,  iiithough  in  an  uncultivated 
language,  the  memory  of  past  things,  in  order  that  future  men 
may  know  tnem."' 

What  does  the  writer  lament  ?  the  fall  of  the  liberal  studies, 
of  the  liberal  sciences,  of  grammar,  of  logic.  Tiiere  is  no- 
thing Christian  tliere  ;  the  Christian  never  thought  of  them. 
On  the  contrary,  when  the  mere  Christian  spirit  dominated, 
men  scorned  what  Gregory  calls  the  liberal  studies ;  they 
called  them  profane  studies. 

It  is  the  ancient  literature  which  the  bishop  regrets,  and 
which  he  wishes  to  imitate  as  far  as  his  weak  talent  will 
allow  him  ;  it  is  that  which  he  admires,  and  which  lie  flatters 
himself  with  the  hope  of  continuing. 

You  see  here  the  profane  character  breaks  through.  No- 
thing is  wanting  to  this  work  to  place  it  in  sacred  literature : 
it  bears  the  name  of  Ecclesiastical  History,  it  is  full  of  the 
religious  doctrines,  traditions,  the  affairs  of  tlie  Cliurch.     And 


I  Article  upon  Greg,  of  Tours,  vol.  i.,  p.  22,  in  my  Collection 
*  Art.  on  Greg,  of  Tours,  vol.  i.,  p.  23,  in  my  Collection. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  301 

Btill  civil  afFairs  likewise  find  a  place  in  it,  and  k  is  a  chroni. 
cle  very  like  the  last  of  the  pagan  chronicles  ;  ami  respecl 
and  regret  for  pagan  literature,  as  formally  expressed  in  it. 
witli  tlie  design  of  imitating  it. 

Indcpeiulciitly  of  the  narrative,  the  book  is  very  curioii!? 
from  the  double  character  which  unites  it  to  the  two  societies, 
and  marks  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other.  As  to  tht- 
rest,  there  is  no  art  of  composition,  no  order  ;  even  the  chro- 
nological order,  wliicii  Gregory  promises  to  follow,  is  inces 
santly  forgotten  and  interrupted.  It  is  merely  the  work  of  a 
man  wliotias  collected  all  he  has  heard  said,  all  that  passed 
in  his  time,  traditions  and  events  of  every  kind,  and  has  in- 
serted  them,  good  and  bad,  in  a  single  narration.  The  same 
enterprise  was  executed,  and  in  the  same  spirit,  at  the  end  of 
the  eleventh  century,  by  a  Norman  monk,  Orderic  Vital. 
Like  Gregory  of  Tours,  Orderic  collected  all  the  recollec- 
tions,  all  facts,  both  lay  and  religious,  which  came  within  his 
knowledge,  and  inserted  them  promiscuously,  connected  by  a 
small  thread,  and,  to  complete  the  resemblance,  he  also  gave 
his  work  the  title  of  Ecclesiastical  History  of  Normandy.  I 
shall  speak  minutely  of  it  when  we  arrive  at  the  civilization 
of  the  eleventh  century  ;  1  merely  wished  here  to  point  out 
the  analogy.  The  work  of  the  bishop  of  Tours,  precisely  by 
reason  of  this  shadow  of  ancient  literature,  which  we  may 
catch  a  glimpse  of  in  the  distance,  is  superior  to  that  of  the 
Norman  monk.  Although  the  Latin  is  very  corrupt,  the 
composition  very  defective,  and  the  style  undignified,  it  has 
still  some  merit  in  the  narration,  some  movement,  some  truth 
of  imagination,  and  a  rather  acute  knowledge  of  nicn.  It  is, 
upon  the  whole,  the  most  instructive  and  amusing  chronicle 
of  the  three  centuries.  It  begins  at  the  year  377,  at  the 
death  of  Saint  Martin,  and  stops  in  59L 

Fredegaire  continued  it.  He  was  a  Burgundian,  probably 
a  monk,  and  lived  in  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century.  This 
is  all  that  is  known  of  him,  and  even  his  name  is  doubtful. 
His  work  is  very  inferior  to  that  of  Gregory  of  Tours  ;  it  is  a 
general  chronicle,  divided  into  five  books,  and  commences  at 
the  creation  of  the  world.  The  fifth  book  only  is  curious;  it 
is  there  that  the  narration  of  Gregory  of  Tours  is  taken  up, 
and  continued  up  to  G4I.  This  continuation  is  of  no  value 
except  for  the  information  which  it  contains,  and  because  il 
in  almos*  the  only  work  there  is  upon  the  same  epoch.     Foi 


362  ifiSTOKy  or 

the  rest,  it  has  no  literary  merit,  and,  except  two  [)assagt!di 
contains  no  picture  the  least  detailed,  nor  does  it  cast  any 
light  upon  society  and  manners.  Fred6galre  himself  was 
struck,  I  will  not  say  with  the  mediocrity  of  his  work,  hiu 
with  the  intellectual  decay  of  his  time. 

*'  We  can  only  draw  with  trouhle,"  says  he,  "  from  u 
source  which  does  not  still  run.  Now  the  world  ages,  and 
the  force  of  mind  deadens  in  us  :  no  man  in  the  present  age 
is  equal  to  the  orators  of  past  times,  and  no  one  dare  even  pre- 
tend to  emulate  them.'" 

The  distance  between  Gregory  of  Tours  and  Fredegaire 
is,  in  fact,  great.  In  the  one,  we  still  feel  the  influence,  and, 
as  it  were,  the  breath  of  Latin  literature  ;  we  recognize  some 
traces,  some  tinges  of  a  taste  for  science  and  elegance  in  mind 
and  manners.  In  Fredegaire  all  recollection  of  the  Roman 
world  has  vanished  ;  he  is  a  barbarous,  ignorant,  and  coarse 
monk,  whose  thought,  like  his  life,  is  inclosed  within  the  walls 
of  his  monastery. 

From  the  prose  writers  let  us  pass  to  the  poets  j  they  are 
worthy  of  our  attention. 

I  just  now  called  to  your  recollection  what  had  been  the 
last  state,  the  last  form  of  history,  in  Latin  literature,  from 
the  tliird  to  the  fifth  century.  Without  falling  quite  so  low, 
the  decay  of  poetry  was  profound.  All  great  poetry  had  dis- 
appeared, that  is,  all  epic,  dramatic,  or  lyrical  poetry  ;  the 
epopee,  the  drama,  and  the  ode,  those  glories  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  were  not  even  aimed  at.  The  only  kinds  still  slightly 
cultivated,  were  :  1,  didactic  poetry,  sometimes  taking  that 
philosophic  tone,  of  which  Lucretius  gave  the  model,  and 
more  frequently  directed  towards  some  material  object,  the 
chase,  fishing,  &c.  ;  2,  descriptive  poetry,  the  school  of  which 
Ausonius  is  the  master,  and  in  which  are  found  numerous 
narrow  but  elegant  minds ;  3,  lastly,  occassional  poetry, 
epigrams,  epitaphs,  madrigals,  epithalamiums,  inscriptions,  all 
that  kind  of  versification,  sometimes  in  mockery,  sometimes 
..1  praise,  whoso  only  oljject  is  to  draw  some  momentary 
amusement  from  passing  events.  This  was  all  that  remained 
of  the  poetry  of  antiquity. 

The  same  kinds,  the  same  characteristics,  appear  in  the 
fcmi-profane,   and  the  semi-Christian   poetry  of  this   epoch. 


'  Rrefact  to  Fredegaire,  vol.  ii.,  p.  164,  of  my  Colleelicn 


CIVILIZATION    IN    PHANCE.  363 

III  my  opinion,  tlio  most  distinguislicd  of  all  tho  Christian 
Doets  from  the  sixth  to  .he  eighth  century,  althougii  he  may 
not  be  the  most  talked  of,  is  Saint  Avitus,  bisiiop  of  Vienne. 
He  was  born  about  the  middle  of  the  fifth  century,  like 
Gregory  of  Tours,  of  a  senatorial  family  in  Auvergnc.  Epis- 
copacy  was  there  a  kind  of  inheritance,  for  he  was  the  fourth 
generation  of  bishops;  his  father  Isique  preceded  him  in  the 
3ce  of  Vienne.  A'cirnus  Ecdicius  Avitus  mounted  it  in  490, 
and  occupied  it  until  the  Tjth  of  February,  525,  the  time  of 
liis  death.  During  all  tiiat  period,  he  played  an  important 
part  in  the  Gaulish  church,  intervened  in  events  of  somt 
importance,  presided  at  many  councils,  among  others,  at  thai 
of  Epaone  in  517,  and  especially  took  a  very  active  part  in 
the  struggle  between  the  Arians  and  the  ortliodox.  He  was 
the  chief  of  the  orthodox  bishops  of  the  east  and  south  of 
Gaul.  As  Vienne  belonged  to  the  Burgundian  Arians,  Saint 
Avitus  had  oflen  to  struggle  in  favor  of  orthodoxy,  not  only 
against  his  theological  adversaries,  but  also  against  the  civil 
power  ;  he  got  out  of  it  happily  and  wisely,  respecting  and 
managing  the  masters  of  the  country  without  ever  abandoning 
his  opinion.  The  conference  which  he  had  at  Lyons,  in  499, 
with  some  Arian  bishops  in  presence  of  king  Gondebald, 
proved  his  firmness  and  his  prudence.  It  is  to  him  that  the 
return  of  king  Sigismond  to  the  bosom  of  orthodoxy  is  attri- 
buted. However  this  may  be,  it  is  as  a  writer,  and  not  as  a 
bishop,  that  we  have  to  consider  him  at  present. 

Although  much  of  what  he  wrote  is  lost,  a  large  number  of 
his  works  remains;  a  huidred  letters  on  the  events  of  his 
times,  some  homilies,  some  fragments  of  theological  treatises, 
and  lastly,  his  poems.  Of  these  there  are  six,  all  in  hexa- 
meter verses.  1.  Upon  the  Creation,  in  325  verses;  2. 
Upon  Original  Sin,  in  423  verses  ;  3.  On  the  Judgment  of 
God  and  the  Expulsion  from  Paradise,  435  verses  ;  4.  Upon 
the  Deluge,  658  verses;  5.  On  the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea, 
719  verses;  6.  In  praise  of  Virginity,  666  verses.  The  first 
three.  The  Creation,  Original  Sin,  and  The  Judgment  of 
God,  together  form  a  triad,  and  may  be  considered  as  three 
parts  of  one  poem,  that  one  might — indeed,  that  one  ought  to 
>all,  to  speak  correctly,  Paradise  Lost.  It  is  not  by  the  subject 
alone  this  work  recalls  to  mind  that  of  Milton ;  the  resem- 
blau3e  in  some  parts  of  the  general  conception,  and  in  some  of 
he  more  important  details,  is  striking.  It  does  not  follow 
hat  Milton  was  acquainted  with  the  poems  of  Saint  Avitus  ; 


304  HISTOBY    OF 

doubtless,  nothing  proves  the  contrary ;  they  were  publishei! 
at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  tlie  classical 
and  theological  learning  of  Milton  was  very  great,  but  it  is  of 
little  importance  to  his  glory  whether  or  not  he  was  acquainUul 
witii  them.  He  was  one  of  those  who  imitate  when  they 
please,  fur  they  invent  when  they  choose,  and  they  invent 
even  while  imitating.  However  it  may  be,  the  analogy  of  the 
two  poems  is  a  rather  curious  literary  fact,  and  that  of  Saint 
Avitus  deserves  the  honor  of  being  closely  compared  with 
lliat  of  Milton. 

The  first  part,  entitled.  Of  the  Creation,  is  essentially  de- 
scriptive ;  the  descriptive  poetry  of  tiie  sixth  century  appears 
there  in  all  its  development.  It  singularly  resembles  tlie  de- 
scriptive poetry  of  our  time,  tlie  schuul,  of  which  the  ablj6 
Delille  is  tlie  chief,  that  we  have  seen  so  nourishing,  and 
which  at  present  scarcely  counts  a  few  languishing  inheritors. 
The  essential  characteristic  of  this  kind  is  to  excel  in  con- 
quering dilRculties  which  are  not  worth  being  conquered,  to 
describe  what  has  no  need  of  being  described,  and  thus  to 
arrive  at  a  rather  rare  literary  merit,  without  it  resulting 
in  any  truly  poetical  effect.  There  are  some  objects  wliieh 
It  is  sufficient  to  name,  occasions  in  which  it  is  suflieiciil  to 
name  the  objects,  in  order  that  poetry  may  take  rise,  and  the 
imagination  be  struck ;  a  word,  a  comparison,  an  cpitliet, 
place  them  vividly  before  one's  eyes.  Descrij)tive  poetry, 
such  as  we  know  it,  is  not  content  with  this  result :  it  is 
scientific  more  than  picturesque  ;  it  troubles  itself  less  with 
making  objects  seen,  than  with  making  them  known  ;  it 
minutely  observes,  and  surveys  them  as  a  designer,  as  an 
anatomist,  is  intent  upon  enumerating  tliem,  upon  displaying 
every  part  of  them ;  and  this  being  the  fact,  that  wliich, 
simply  named  or  designated  by  a  single  stroke,  by  a  general 
image,  would  be  real  and  visible  to  the  imagination,  ap- 
pears  only  decomposed,  cut  up,  dissected,  destroyed.  This  is 
the  radical  vice  of  modern  descriptive  i)oetry,  an  J  the  trace 
of  it  is  imprinted  in  its  happiest  works.  It  is  found  in  that 
of  the  sixth  century ;  the  greater  part  of  the  descriptions  of 
Saint  Avitus  have  the  same  fault,  tlie  same  character. 

God  works  at  the  creation  of  man  :  "  Me  places  tlie  head 
on  the  most  elevated  place,  and  adapts  the  countenance, 
pierced  with  seven  outlets,  to  the  wants  of  the  intellect.  From 
whence  are  exercised  the  senses  of  smell,  hearing,  siglit,  and 
laste  :  thai  of  touch  is  the  only  s.ense  which  feels  and  judge.H 


CIVILIZATION    IN    Fb/lNCE.  36fi 

oy  tlio  whole  body,  and  whose  energy  is  spread  through  all 
Its  members.  The  flexible  tongue  is  attached  to  the  roof  of 
the  mouth,  so  that  the  voice,  driven  into  this  cavity  as  if 
struck  by  a  bow,  resounds  with  various  modulations  through 
tlie  moved  air.  From  the  liumid  chest,  placed  before  the 
body,  extend  the  robust  arms  with  the  ramifications  of  tiic 
hands.  After  the  stomach  comes  the  belly,  which  upon  each 
side  surrounds  the  vital  organs  with  a  soft  envelopment.  Be. 
low,  the  body  is  divided  into  two  thighs,  in  order  to  walk  more 
easily  by  an  nltcrnate  movement.  BchinJ,  and  below  th« 
occiput,  descends  the  nape  of  the  neck,  whicii  everywhere 
distributes  its  innumerable  nerves.  Lower  and  on  the  inside 
are  placed  the  lungs,  which  must  be  separated  by  a  liglit  air, 
and  wliich,  by  a  strong  breath,  alternately  receive  and  re- 
turn  it."' 

Are  we  not  in  the  workshop  of  a  mechanic  ?  are  we  npt 
present  at  that  slow  and  successive  labor  which  announces 
science  and  excludes  life  ?  In  this  description,  there  is  great 
accuracy  of  facts,  the  structure  of  the  human  body  and  the 
agency  of  the  various  organs  are  very  faithfully  explained 
everything  is  there,  except  man  and  the  creation. 

It  would  be  easy  to  find,  in  modern  descriptive  poetry,  per- 
fectly analogous  passages. 

Do  not  suppose,  however,  that  there  is  nothing  but  things 
of  this  kind,  and  that,  even  in  this  description  of  poetry,  Saint 
Avitus  has  always  executed  as  badly  as  this.  This  book 
contains  many  of  the  most  happy  descriptions,  many  most 
poetical,  those  especially  which  trace  the  general  beauties  of 
nature,  a  subject  far  more  within  the  reach  of  descriptive  po- 
etry, much  better  adapted  to  its  means.  I  will  quote,  for  an 
example,  the  description  of  Paradise,  of  the  garden  of  Eden, 
and  I  will  at  the  same  time  place  before  you  that  of  Milton, 
universally  celebrated. 

"  Beyond  India,  where  the  world  commences,  where  it  is 
said  that  the  confines  of  heaven  and  earth  meet,  is  an  elevated 
retreat,  inaccessible  to  mortals,  and  closed  with  eternal  barri- 
ers, ever  since  the  author  of  the  first  crime  was  driven  out 
ader  his  fall,  and  the  guilty  saw  themselves  justly  expelled 
heir  happy  dwelling.  .  .  .  No  changes  of  season  there  bring 
Dack  frost ;  there  the  summer  sun  is  not  succeeded  by  the  ice 


I  Poems  of  Avitus,  1,  i.,  Dt  Initio  Mundi,  v.  82 — 107 


360  HISTORY    OF 

-of  winter ;  while  elsewhere  the  ciccle  of  the  year  brings  ae 
Btifling  hoat,  or  fields  whitened  by  frost,  the  kindness  of 
Heaven  there  maintains  an  eternal  spring ;  the  tumultuous 
South  wind  penetrates  not  there  ;  the  clouds  forsake  an  air 
always  pure,  and  a  heaven  always  serene.  The  soil  has  no 
need  of  rains  to  refresh  it,  and  the  plants  pros|>er  l>y  virluo 
of  their  own  dew.  The  earth  is  always  verdant,  and  its 
eurface,  animated  by  a  sweet  warmth,  resplendent  with 
beauty.  Herbs  never  abandon  the  hills,  the  trees  never  lose 
their  leaves  ;  and  although  constantly  covered  with  (lowers, 
they  quickly  repair  their  strength  by  means  of  their  own  sap. 
Fruits,  which  we  have  but  once  in  the  year,  there  ripen  every 
month  ;  there  the  sun  does  not  wither  the  splendor  of  the  lily  ; 
ijo  touch  stains  the  violet ;  the  rose  always  preserves  its 
color  and  graceful  form.  .  .  .  Odoriferous  balm  continually 
runs  from  fertile  branches.  If,  by  chance,  a  slight  wind 
arises,  the  beautiful  forest,  skimmed  by  its  breath,  with  a 
sweet  murmur  agitates  its  leaves  and  flowers,  from  which 
escape  and  spread  afar  the  sweetest  perfurwes.  A  clear 
fountain  runs  from  a  source  of  which  the  eye  with  care  pene- 
trates to  the  bottom  ;  the  most  polished  gold  has  no  such  spUsn 
dor  ;  a  crystal  of  frozen  water  attracts  not  so  much  light. 
Emeralds  glitter  on  its  shores  ;  every  precious  stone  which  the 
vain  world  extols,  are  there  scattered  like  pebbles,  adorn  the 
fields  with  the  most  varied  colors,  and  deck  them  as  with  a 
natural  diadem." 

Now  see  that  of  Milton  ;  it  is  cut  into  numerous  shreds, 
and  scattered  throughout  the  fourtli  book  of  his  poem  :  but  1 
shoose  the  passage  which  best  corresponds  to  that  v\  'lich  1 
have  just  quoted  from  the  bishop  of  Vienne  : 

"  1  lius  was  tliia  place 
A  happy  rural  seat  of  various  view  ; 
Groves  whose  rich  trees  wept  odorous  gums  and  balm  ; 
Others  whose  fruit,  burnished  with  golden  rind, 
Hung  aniiaole,  Hesperian  fables  true, 
If  true,  here  only,  and  of  delicious  taste  : 
Betwixt  them  lawns,  or  level  downs,  and  flocks 
Grazing  the  tender  herb,  were  interpos'd, 
Or  palmy  hillock  ;  or  the  flowery  lap 
Of  some  irriguous  valley,  'spread  her  store, 
Flowers  of  all  hue,  and  without  Lhoru  the  rose  ; 


>  L.  I.,  De  Initio  Mundi,  v.  211—257. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE,  8flT 

Anotficr  side,  umhragoous  profs  and  caves 
Of  cool  recess,  o'er  which  the  niatitling  vine. 
Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 
Luxuriant ;  meanwhile,  murmuring  waters  fall 
Down  the  slope  hills,  dispors'd,  or  in  a  lake. 
That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crown'd, 
Her  crystal  mirror  holds,  unite  their  streams. 
The  birds  their  quire  ap|ily ;  airs,  vernal  airs, 
Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove,  attune 
The  trembling  leaves,  while  universal  Pan 
Knit  with  the  graces  and  the  hours  in  dance, 
Led  on  the  eternal  spring."' 

The  description  of  Saint  Avitus  is  certainly  rather  superioi 
than  inferior  to  that  of  Milton ;  although  the  first  is  much 
nearer  to  paganism,  he  mixes  far  fewer  mythological  recol- 
lections in  his  pictures  :  the  imitation  of  antiquity  is  perhaps 
less  visible,  and  the  description  of  the  beauties  of  nature  ap- 
pears to  me  at  once  more  varied  and  more  simple. 

In  the  same  bool<  I  find  a  description  of  the  overflowing  of 
tlie  Nile,  which  also  deserves  quotation.  You  know  that,  in 
all  religious  traditions,  the  Nile  is  one  of  the  four  rivers  of 
Paradise  ;  it  is  for  this  reason  that  the  poet  names  it,  and 
describes  its  annual  inundations. 

*'  Whenever  the  river,  by  swelling,  extends  over  its  banks 
and  covers  the  plains  wilh  its  black  slime,  its  waters  become 
fertile,  heaven  is  calm,  and  a  terrestrial  rain  spreads  on  all 
sides.  Then  Memphis  is  surrounded  with  water,  is  seen  in 
the  midst  of  a  large  gulf,  and  the  navigator  is  seen  upon  his 
fields,  which  are  no  longer  visible.  There  is  no  longer  any 
limit ;  boundaries  disappear  by  the  decree  of  the  river,  which 
equalizes  all  and  suspends  the  labors  of  the  year ;  the  shep- 
herd joyfully  sees  the  fields  which  he  frequents  swallowed 
up ;  and  the  fish,  swimming  in  foreign  seas,  frequent  the 
places  where  the  herds  fed  upon  the  verdant  grass.  At  last, 
when  the  water  has  espoused  the  altered  earth  and  has  im- 
pregnated all  its  germs,  the  Nile  recedes,  and  re-collects  its 
scattered  waters  :  the  lake  disappears  ;  it  becomes  a  river, 
returns  to  its  bed,  and  encloses  its  floods  in  the  ancient  dyke 
of  its  banks.'" 

Many  features  of  this  description  are  marked  with  faults  of 
Myle  ;  we  find  many  of  those  labored  comparisons,  those  arti- 
ficial  antitheses,  which   he  takes  for  poetry:  "the  lerrestriai 

Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  iv.  246—68.  ^  Avitus,  1   i.,  v.  266—281 


368  HISTORY    OF 

rain,*'  for  example,  "  the  water  espouses  ihe  seu,"  &c  ;  still 
the  picture  is  not  devoid  of  truth  and  eil'cct.  In  his  poem 
upon  The  Deluge,  Saint  Avitus  has  described  an  analogous 
phenomenon,  but  far  more  vast  and  terrible,  the  fall  of  the 
waters  of  Heaven,  and  the  simultaneous  overflow  of  all  the 
waters  of  tne  earth,  with  much  vigor  and  effect ;  but  the 
length  of  the  passage  forbids  my  quoting  it  to  you. 

In  the  second  book,  entitled,  Of  the  Original  Sin,  the  poet 
fullows,  step  by  step,  the  sacred  traditions  j  but  they  do  not 
cubdue  his  imagination,  and  he  sometimes  even  elevates  him- 
self to  poetical  ideas,  in  which  he  quits  them  without  posi- 
tively contradicting  them.  Every  one  knows  the  character 
with  which  Milton  has  invested  Satan,  and  the  originality  of 
that  conception  wliich  has  preserved  in  the  demon  the  grandeur 
of  the  angel,  carrying  down  to  the  pit  of  evil  the  glorioua 
traces  of  goodness,  and  thus  shedding,  over  the  enemy  of  God 
and  man,  an  interest,  which,  however,  has  nothing  illegitimate 
or  perverse.  Something  of  this  idea,  or  rather  of  this  inten- 
tion,  fa  (bund  in  the  poem  of  Saint  Avitus:  his  Satan  is  by  no 
means  the  demon  of  mere  religious  traditions,  odious,  hideous, 
wicked,  a  stranger  to  all  elevated  or  aflectionate  feeling.  He 
has  preserved  in  him  some  traits  of  his  first  state,  a  certain 
moral  grandeur  ;  the  instinct  of  the  poet  has  overcome  the 
doctrine  of  the  bishop ;  and  although  his  conception  of  the 
character  of  Satan  is  far  inferior  to  that  of  Milton,  although 
he  could  not  bring  forth  in  it  those  combats  of  tiie  soul,  those 
fierce  contrasts  which  render  the  work  of  the  English  poet  so 
admirable,  still  his  is  not  devoid  of  originality  and  energy. 
Like  Milton,  he  has  painted  Satan  at  the  time  when  he  enterd 
Paradise  and  perceives  Adam  and  Eve  for  the  first  tmie. 

"  When  he  saw,"  says  he,  "  the  new  creatures  in  a  peaceful 
dwelling,  leading  a  happy  and  cloudless  life,  under  the  law 
which  they  had  received  from  the  Lord,  with  the  empire  of 
the  universe,  and  enjoying,  amidst  delicious  tranquillity,  all 
which  was  subjected  to  them,  the  flash  of  jealousy  rai;ied  a 
tiudden  vapor  in  his  soul,  and  his  burning  rage  soon  became 
a  terrible  fire.  It  was  then  not  long  since  le  had  fallen  from 
Heaven,  and  had  hurried  away  witli  him,  into  the  Ionv  pit, 
the  troop  attached  to  his  fate.  At  tin's  thought,  and  reviewinj^ 
his  recent  disgrace  in  his  heart,  it  seemed  taat  he  had  lot^t 
more,  since  he  saw  another  possessed  of  such  liappiness ;  and 
shame  mixing  itself  with  envy,  he  poured  out  his  aiigr) 
regrets  in  these  words  : 


CIV'LIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  305 

"  *0  sorrow  !  this  work  of  earth  is  suddenly  raised  hcforo 
OS,  and  our  ruin  lias  given  birth  to  this  odious  race  !  I, 
Virtue!  I  possessed  heaven,  and  I  am  now  expelled  i',  and 
dust  has  succeeded  to  the  honor  of  angels !  A  little  clay, 
arranged  unoer  a  pitiful  form,  will  here  reign,  and  the  power 
torn  from  us  is  transferred  to  him  !  But  we  have  not  en- 
liroly  lost  it  J  the  greatest  portion  thereof  remains;  wo  can 
arid  we  know  to  injure.  Let  us  not  delay  then  ;  this  combat 
pleases  me  ;  I  will  engage  theiYi  at  their  first  appearance, 
while  thrir  simplicity,  which  has  as  yet  experienced  no  deceit, 
is  ignorant  of  everything,  and  offers  itself  to  every  blow.  It 
will  be  easier  to  mislead  them  while  they  are  alone,,  before 
they  have  thrown  a  fruitful  posterity  into  the  eternity  of  ngcs. 
Lot  us  not  allow  anytliing  immortal  to  come  out  of  the  earth  ; 
let  us  destroy  the  race  at  its  commencement :  O  that  the  de- 
feat of  its  chief  may  become  the  seed  of  death  ;  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  life  may  give  rise  to  the  pangs  of  death  ;  that  all  ma}" 
bn  struck  in  one  ;  the  root  cut,  the  tree  will  never  raisfe  itself. 
These  are  the  consolations  which  remain  to  me  in  my  fall. 
Jf  I  cannot  again  mount  to  the  heavens,  they  will  at  least  be 
closed  for  these  creatures  :  it  seems  to  me  less  harsh  to  be 
fallen,  if  the  new  creatures  are  lost  by  a  similar  fall  ;  if,  the 
accomplices  of  my  ruin,  they  become  companions  of  my  pun- 
ishment, and  share  with  us  the  fire  which  I  now  catch  a 
glimpse  of.  But,  in  order  to  attract  (hem  without  difficulty, 
it  is  needful  that  I  myself,  who  have  fallen  so  low,  shouh' 
show  them  the  route  which  I  myself  travelled  over  ;  that  the 
same  pride  which  drove  me  from  the  celestial  kingdom,  may 
chase  men  from  the  boundaries  of  Paradise.'  He  thus  spoke, 
and,  heaving  a  sigh,  became  silent.'" 

Now  for  the  Satan  of  Milton,  at  the  same  time,  and  in  the 
same  situation  : 


♦'  0  hell,  what  do  mine  eyes  with  grief  behoid  i 
Into  our  room  of  bliss,  thus  high  advanc'd, 
Creatures  of  other  mouldy  earth,  born,  perhaps, 
Not  spirits,  yet  to  heavenly  spirits  bright 
Little  inferior  ;  whom  my  thoughts  pursue 
With  wonder,  and  could  love,  so  lively  shines 
In  them  Divine  resemblance,  and  such  grace 
The  hand  that  form'd  them  on  their  shape  hath  pour'd 


'  Avitus.  1    ii..  V.  60—117. 


370  HISTORY    OF 

Ah,  gentle  pair,  ye  little  tliink  how  nigh 

Your  change  approaches,  when  all  these  delighta 

Will  vanish,  and  deliver  ye  to  woe  ; 

More  woe,  the  more  your  taste  is  now  of  joy  ; 

Happy,  but  for  so  happy,  ill  secur'd 

Long  to  continue,  and  this  high  seat  your  Heav'u, 

111  fenc'd  for  Heaven  to  keep  out  such  a  foe 

As  now  is  enter'd ;  yet  no  purpos'd  foe 

To  you,  whorii  I  could  pity  thus  forlorn, 

Thougli  I  unpitied  :  league  with  you  I  seek, 

And  mutual  amity  so  strait,  so  close. 

That  1  with  you  must  dwell,  or  you  with  mo 

Henceforth  ;  my  dwelling  haply  may  not  please. 

Like  this  fair  Paradise,  your  sense  ;  yet  such 

Accept  your  Maker's  work  ;  he  gave  it  me, 

Which  I  as  freely  give  :  Hell  shall  unfold, 

To  entertain  you  two,  her  widest  gates, 

And  send  forth  all  iier  kings;  there  will  be  room. 

Not  like  these  narrow  limits,  to  receive 

Your  numerous  ofl'spring;  if  no  better  place, 

Thank  him  who  puts  me  loath  to  this  revenge 

On  you,  who  wrong  me  not,  for  him  who  wrong'd. 

And  should  I  at  your  harmless  innocence 

Melt  as  I  do,  yet  public  reason  just. 

Honor  and  empire  with  revenge  enlarg'd 

By  conquering  this  new  world,  compels  me  now 

To  do  what  else,  though  damn'd,  I  sliould  abhor."' 

Here  the  superiority  of  Milton  is  great.  lie  gives  to  Satan 
far  more  elevated,  more  impassioned,  more  complex  feelings 
— perhaps  even  too  complex — and  his  words  are  far  more 
eloquent.  Still  there  is  a  remarkable  analogy  between  the 
two  passages ;  and  the  simple  energy,  the  menacing  unity  of 
the  Satan  of  Saint  Avitus,  seems  to  me  to  be  very  effective. 

The  third  book  describes  the  despair  of  Adam  and  Eve 
after  their  fall,  the  coming  of  God,  his  judgment,  and  their 
expulsion  from  Paradise.  You  will  surely  remember  that 
famous  passage  of  Milton,  after  the  judgment  of  God,  when 
Adam  sees  everything  overthrown  around  him,  and  expects 
to  be  driven  out  of  Paradise  ;  he  abandons  himself  to  the 
harshest  rage  against  the  woman  : 

•  Whom  thus  afflicted  when  sad  Eve  beheld. 
Desolate  where  she  sat,  approaching  nigh. 
Soft  words  to  his  fierce  passion  she  assay'd  : 
But  her  with  stern  regard  he  thus  repell'd  : 


'  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  iv  .  358—392 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  071 

•  Out  of  my  sight,  thou  serpent !  that  name  beat 
Befits  thee  with  him  leagued,  thyself  as  false 
And  hateful  ;  nothing  wants,  but  that  thy  shape, 
Like  his,  and  color  serpentine,  may  show 
Thy  inward  fraud,  to  warn  all  creatures  from  thee  ' 
•  Henceforth  ;  least  that  too  heavenly  form  pretendfd 
To  hellish  falsehood,  snare  them.     But  for  thee 
I  had  persisted  happy  ;  had  not  thy  pride 
And  wandering  vanity,  when  least  was  safe. 
Rejected  my  forewarning,  and  disdained, 
Not  to  be  trusted  ;  longing  to  be  seen. 
Though  by  the  devil  himself:  him  overweenin<? 
To  overreach  ;  but  with  the  serpent  meeting, 
Fool'd  and  beguil'd  ;  by  him,  thou,  I  by  thee. 
To  trust  thee  from  my  side,  imagin'd  wise. 
Constant,  ma'ure,  proof  against  all  assaults ; 
And  understood  not  all  was  but  a  show. 
Rather  than  solid  virtue  ;  all  but  a  rib 
Crooked  by  nature,  bent,  as  now  appears, 
More  to  the  part  sinister,  from  me  drawn  ; 
Will  if  thrown  out  as  supernumerary, 
To  my  just  number  found.     O  !  why  did  God, 
Creator  wise,  that  peopled  highest  Heaven 
With  spirits  masculii.e,  create  at  last 
This  novelty  on  earth,  this  fair  defect 
Of  nafure,  and  not  fill  the  world  at  once 
With  men  and  angels,  without  feminine ; 
Or  fir.ti  some  other  way  to  generate 
Mankind  ?     This  mischief  had  not  then  befall'n, 
And  more  that  shall  befall ;  innumerable 
Disturbances  on  earth  through  female  snares. 
And  strait  conjunction  with  this  sex."i 

The  same  idea  occurred  to  Saint  Avitus  ;  only  that  it  is  to 
God  himself,  not  to  Eve,  that  Adam  addresses  the  explosion 
of  his  rage : 

"  When  thus  he  saw  himself  condemned,  and  that  the  most 
just  inquiry  had  made  evident  all  his  fault,  he  did  not  hum 
bly  ask  his  pardon  and  pray  ;  he  answered  not  with  shrieks 
and  tears  ;  he  sought  not  to  deter,  with  suppliaiit  confession, 
the  deserved  punishment ;  already  miserable,  he  invoked  no 
pity.  He  erected  himself,  he  irritated  himself,  and  his  pride 
broke  out  into  insensate  clamors  :  '  It  was  then  to  bring  my 
ruin  that  this  woman  was  united  to  my  fate  ?  That  which, 
by  thy  first  law,  thou  hast  given  for  a  dwelling  :  it  is  she  who. 
overcome   herself,  has  conquered  me  with  her  sinister  coun 


'  Milton.  Paradise  Lost,  x.,  863—897. 

u 


J72  HISTORY    OF 

sels ;  it  is  she  who  has  persuaded  me  .o  tako  that  fruit  which 
she  herself  already  knew.  She  is  the  source  of  evil  ;  from 
her  came  crime.  I  was  credulous  ;  but  thou,  Lord,  tauglit 
me  to  believe  her  by  giving  her  to  me  in  marriage,  in  joining 
me  to  her  by  sweet  knots.  Happy  if  my  life,  at  first  solitary, 
had  always  so  run  on,  if  I  had  never  known  the  ties  of  such 
an  union,  and  the  yoke  of  this  fatal  companion  !' 

•'  A-t  this  outburst  of  irritated  Adam,  the  Creator  addressed 
these  severe  words  to  desolate  Eve  :  '  Why,  in  fulling,  hast 
drawn  down  thy  unhappy  spouse  ?  Deceitful  woman,  why, 
instead  of  remaining  alone  in  thy  fall,  hast  thou  dethroned  the 
superior  reason  of  the  man  V  She,  full  of  shame,  her  cheeks 
covered  with  a  sorrowful  blush,  said  that  the  serpent  had  per- 
suaded her  to  touch  the  forbidden  fruit.'" 

Does  not  this  passage  appear  at  least  equal  to  that  of  Mil- 
ton  ?  It  is  even  free  from  the  subtle  details  which  disfigure 
the  latter,  and  diminish  the  progress  of  the  sentiment. 

The  book  terminates  with  the  prediction  of  the  advent  of 
Christ,  who  shall  triumph  over  Satan.  But  with  this  conclu- 
sion the  poet  describes  the  very  leaving  of  Paradise,  and  these 
last  verses  are,  perhaps,  the  most  beautiful  in  the  poem  : 

"  At  these  words,  the  Lord  clothes  them  both  with  the  skins 
of  beasts,  and  drives  them  from  the  happy  retreat  of  Para- 
dise. They  fall  together  to  the  earth  ;  they  enter  upon  the 
desert  world,  and  wander  about  with  rapid  steps.  The  world 
is  covered  with  trees  and  turf:  it  has  green  meadows,  and 
fountains  and  rivers  ;  and  yet  its  face  appears  hideous  to  them 
after  thine,  O  Paradise !  and  they  are  horror-struck  with  it ; 
and,  according  to  the  nature  of  men,  they  lo\e  better  what 
they  have  lost.  The  earth  is  narrow  to  them  ;  they  do  not 
see  its  limits,  and  yet  they  feel  confined,  and  they  groan. 
Even  the  day  is  dark  to  their  eyes,  and  under  the  clear  sun, 
they  complain  that  the  light  has  disappeared."* 

The  three  other  poems  of  Saint  Avitus,  the  Deluge,  the 
Passage  of  the  Red  Sea,  and  the  Praise  of  Virginity,  are  very 
inferior  to  what  I  have  just  quoted  ;  still  some  remarkable 
fragments  may  be  found  in  ihem,  and  certainly  we  have  rea- 
son to  be  astonished  that  a  work  which  contains  such  leau- 
tins  should  remain  so  obscure.     But  the  age  of  Saint  Avitus 


»  A»Uu9,  1  :ii.,  V.  90—112.  »  Ibid.,  v.  IQ.n— 207 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  373 

Is  aU  obscure,  nnd  he  has  fallen  under  the   general  decay  Ir. 
.'lie  midst  of  which  he  lived. 

I  named  a  second  poet,  Fortunatus,  bishop  of  Poictiers. 
He  was  not  of  Gaulish  origin  ;  he  was  born  in  5.30,  beyond 
the  Alps,  near  Ceneda,  in  the  Trevisan  ;  and  about  .'JG.'j,  a 
little  before  the  great  invasion  of  the  Lombards,  and  the  de- 
Eclation  of  the  north  of  Italy,  he  passed  into  Gaul,  and  stopped 
in  Austrasia  at  the  lime  of  the  marriage  of  Sigebert  and 
Brunehault,  daughter  of  Athanagilde,  king  of  Spain.  It  ap. 
pears  that  he  remained  there  one  or  two  years,  n:aking  epi- 
thalamiums,  laments,  a  court  poet  there,  devoted  to  the  cele- 
bration of  its  adventures  and  pleasures.  We  then  find  him 
at  Tours,  paying  his  devotions  to  Saint  Martin  ;  he  was  then 
a  layman.  Saint  Radegonde,  wife  of  Clotaire  I.,  had  just 
retired,  and  found(?d  a  monastery  of  nuns.  Fortunatus  con- 
nccted  himself  with  her  in  close  friendship,  entered  into 
orders,  and  soon  became  her  chaplain,  and  almoner  of  the 
monastery.  From  this  period,  no  remarkable  incident  of  his 
life  is  known.  Seven  or  eight  years  after  the  death  of  Saint 
Radegonde,  ho  was  made  bishop  of  Poictiers,  and  there  died 
at  the  beginning  of  the  seventh  century,  after  having  long 
celebrated  with  his  verses  all  the  great  men  of  his  age,  and 
havinfT  been  in  assiduous  correspondence  with  all  the  great 
bishops. 

Independently  of  seven  lives  of  saints,  of  some  letters  or 
theological  treatises  in  prose,  of  four  books  of  hexameters  on 
the  life  of  Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  which  are  merely  a  poetical 
version  of  the  life  of  the  same  saint  by  Sulpieius  Severus, 
and  some  trifling  works  which  are  lost,  there  remain  of  him 
two  hundred  and  forty-nine  pieces  of  verse  in  all  kinds  of 
metres,  of  which  two  hundred  and  forty-six  were  collected  by 
himself  in  eleven  books,  and  three  are  separate.  Of  these 
two  hundred  and  forty-nine  pieces,  there  are  fifteen  in  honor 
of  certain  churches,  cathedrals,  oratories,  &c.,  composed  at 
the  time  of  their  construction  or  dedication  ;  thirty  epitaphs  ; 
twenty-nine  pieces  to  Gregory  of  Tours,  or  concerning  him  ; 
twenty-seven  to  Saint  Radegonde,  or  to  sister  Agnes,  abbess 
of  the  monastery  of  Poictiers,  and  one  hundred  and  forty- 
eight  other  pieces  to  all  sorts  of  persons,  and  upon  all  sorts  of 
Bubjects. 

The  pieces  addressed  to  Saint  Radegonde,  or  to  the  abbesg 
\gnc3,  are  incontestably  those  which  best  make  known  an<} 


574  HISTORV    OF 

characterize  the  turn  of  mind,  and  the  kind  of  poetry,  of  For 
tunatus.     On  these  only  I  shall  dwell. 

One  is  naturally  led  to  attach  to  the  relations  of  such  pei 
sons  the  most  serious  ideas,  and  it  is,  in  fact,  under  a  grave 
aspect  that  they  have  been  described  :  it  has  been  mistakenly  j 
do  not  suppose  that  I  have  here  to  relate  some  strange  anec 
dote,  or  tnat  his  history  is  subject  to  the  embarrassment  of 
some  scandal.  There  is  nothing  scandalous,  nothing  equivo- 
cal, nothing  which  lends  the  slightest  malignant  conjecture,  to 
be  met  with  in  the  relation  between  the  bishop  and  the  nuns 
of  Poictiers ;  but  they  are  of  a  futility,  of  a  puerility  which 
it  is  impossible  to  overlook  for  even  the  poems  of  Fortunatua 
are  a  monument  of  them. 

These  are  the  titles  of  sixteen  of  the  twenty,  ieven  pieces 
a  dressed  to  Saint  Radegonde,  or  to  Saint  Agnes : 

Book  VIII.,  piece  8,  to  Saint  Radegonde  upon  violets. 

"  9,  upon  flowers  put  on  the  altar. 

«  10,  upon  flowers  which  he  sent  her. 

Book    XL,  piece  4,  to  Saint  Radegonde  for  her  to  drink 
wine. 

«  11,  to  the  abbess  upon  flowers 

"  13,  upon  chestnuts. 

«  14,  upon  milk. 

«  15,  idem. 

«  16,  upon  a  repast. 

^                  «  18,  upon  sloes. 

««  19,  upon  milk  and  other  dainties, 

«  20,  upon  eggs  and  nlums. 

«  22,  upon  a  repast. 

««  23,  ide7n. 

«  24,  ide7n. 

«  25,  idem. 

Now  see  some  samples  of  the  pieces  themselves ;  they  prove 
ihat  the  titles  do  not  deceive  us. 

"  In  the  midst  of  my  fasting,"  writes  he  to  Saint  Radegonde, 
"  thou  sendest  me  various  meats,  and  at  the  sight  of  them  thou 
painest  my  mind  My  eyes  contemplate  what  the  doctor  for- 
bids me  to  use,  and  his  hand  interdicts  what  my  mouth  desires. 
Still  when  thy  goodness  gratifies  us  with  this  milk,  thy  gifts 
surpass  those  of  kings.     Rejoice,  therefore,  I  pray  thee,  lik( 


CIVIL. ZATION    IN    FRANCE.  375 

a  gix)(l  sister  with  our  pious  mother,  for  at  this  niomon   I  have 
tiie  sweet  pleasure  of  being  at  table.'" 

And  elsewhere,  after  liaving  a  repast:  "Surrounded  b} 
various  delicacies,  and  all  kinds  of  ragouts,  sometimes  I  sleep, 
sometimes  I  eat ;  I  open  my  mouth,  then  I  close  my  eyea, 
and  I  again  eat  of  everything;  my  mind  was  confused,  be- 
lievG  it,  most  dear  ones,  and  I  could  not  easily  either  speak 
with  liberty,  or  write  verses.  A  drunken  man  has  an  uncer- 
tain  hand  ;  wine  produced  the  same  effect  upon  me  as  upon 
other  drinkers;  methinks  I  see  the  table  swimming  in  pure 
wine.  However,  as  well  as  I  am  able,  I  have  traced  in  soft 
language  this  little  song  for  my  mother  and  my  sister,  and 
although  sleep  sharply  presses  me,  the  affeition  which  1  bear 
for  them  has  inspired  what  the  hand  is  scarcely  in  a  state  to 
write.  "2 

It  is  not  by  way  of  amusement  that  I  insert  these  singular 
quotations,  which  it  would  be  easy  for  me  to  multiply ;  I  de- 
sire, on  the  one  hand,  to  place  before  your  eyes  a  view  of  the 
manners  of  this  epoch,  which  are  but  little  known  ;  and  on  the 
other,  to  enable  you  to  see,  and,  so  to  speak,  to  touch  with 
your  finger,  the  origin  of  a  kind  of  poetry  which  has  held 
rather  an  important  place  in  our  literature,  of  that  light  and 
mocking  poetry  which,  beginning  with  our  old  fabliaux,  down 
to  Ver-vert,  has  been  pitilessly  exercised  upon  the  weakness 
and  ridiculous  points  of  the  interior  of  monasteries.  Fortu- 
natus,  to  be  sure,  did  not  mean  to  jest ;  actor  and  poet  at  the 
same  time,  he  spoke  and  wrote  very  seriously  to  Saint  Rade- 
gonde  and  the  abbess  Agnes  ;  but  the  very  manners  which 
this  kind  of  poetry  took  for  a  text,  and  which  so  long  provoked 
French  fancy,  that  puerility,  that  laziness,  that  gluttony,  as- 
sociated with  the  gravest  relations, — you  see  them  begin  here 
with  the  sixtli  century,  and  under  exactly  the  same  traits  with 
those  which  Marot  or  Gresset  lent  to  them  ten  or  twelve  cen- 
turies later. 

However,  the  poems  ot  tortunatus  have  not  all  of  thert 
this  character.  Independently  of  some  beautiful  sacred 
hymns,  one  of  which,  the  Vexilla  Regis,  was  officially  adopt- 
ed by  the  church,  there  is  in  many  of  these  small  lay  and  reli- 
gious poems  a  good  deal  of  imagination,   of  intehect,   and 


'  Tertun  Cnrm  ,  1.  xi.,  No.  19;  Bib.  Pat.,  vol  v.,  p.  59ft 
*Ibid.,  No.  24;  ibid. 


876  HISTORY    OF 

animation.  I  shall  only  quote  a  passage  from  an  elegiac  poen. 
of  tiiree  hundred  and  seventy-one  verses,  about  the  departure 
of  Galsuinthe,  sister  of  Brunehault,  from  Spain,  her  arrival  in 
France,  her  marriage  with  Chilperic,  and  her  deplorable  end  ; 
I  select  the  lamentations  of  Galsuinthe,  her  motiier,  wife  of 
Atiianagilde ;  she  sees  her  daughter  about  to  quit  her,  em- 
braces  her,  looks  at  her,  embraces  her  again,  and  cries  : 

"  Spain,  so  full  of  inhabitants,  and  too  confined  for  a  mother, 
land  of  the  sun,  become  a  prison  to  me,  although  thou  extend- 
est  from  the  country  of  Zephyr  to  that  of  the  burning  Ecus, 
from  Tyrhenia  to  the  ocean — altliough  thou  sufiicest  for  nu- 
merous nations,  since  my  daughter  is  not  longer  here,  thou  ari 
too  narrow  for  me.  Without  thee,  my  daughter,  I  shall  be 
here  as  a  foreigner  and  wanderer,  and,  in  my  native  country, 
at  once  a  citizen  and  an  exile.  I  ask,  what  sliall  these  eyes 
look  at  which  everywhere  seek  my  daughter  ?  .  .  .  Whatever 
infant  plays  with  me  will  be  a  punishment ;  thou  wilt  weigh 
upon  my  heart  in  the  embraces  of  another :  let  another  run, 
step,  seat  herself,  weep,  enter,  go  out,  thy  dear  image  will 
always  be  before  my  eyes.  When  thou  shalt  have  quitted 
me,  1  shall  hasten  to  strange  caresses,  and,  groaning,  I  shall 
press  another  face  to  my  withered  breast ;  I  shall  dry  witii 
iny  kisses  the  tears  of  another  child  ;  I  shall  drink  of  them  ; 
and  may  it  please  God  that  I  may  thus  find  some  refreshment 
for  my  devouring  thirst !  Whatever  I  do,  I  shall  be  torment- 
ed,  no  remedy  can  console  me ;  I  perish,  O  Galsuinthe,  by 
the  wound  which  comes  to  me  from  thee !  I  ask  what  dear 
hand  will  dress,  will  ornament  thy  hair  ?  Who,  when  I  shall 
not  be  there,  will  cover  thy  soft  cheeks  with  kisses  ?  Who 
will  warm  thee  in  her  bosom,  who  carry  thee  on  her  knees, 
surround  thee  with  her  arms?  Alas!  when  thou  shalt  be 
without  me,  thou  wilt  have  no  mother.  For  the  rest,  my  sad 
heart  charges  thee  at  the  time  of  thy  departure ;  be  happy,  I 
implore  thee  j  but  leave  me  :  go :  farewell :  send  through  the 
air  some  consolation  to  thy  impatient  mother ;  and,  if  the 
wind  bears  me  any  news,  let  it  it  be  favorable."* 

The  subtlety  and  affectation  of  bad  rhetoric  are  to  be  found 
in  this  passage  ;  but  its  emotion  is  sincere,  and  the  expression 
ingenious  and  vivid.  Many  pieces  of  Fortunatus  have  tho 
Bume  merits. 


^Fortun.  Cann.,  1.  vi..  No  7  ;  Bib.  Pat,,  vol   x.,  p.  563 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  877 

I  slml.  prosecute  tins  inquiry  no  further;  I  think  I  havo 
fully  justified  what  I  said  in  commencing:  sacred  literature  ig 
not  there  ;  the  habits,  and  even  the  metrical  forms  of  the 
dying  pagan  literature,  are  clearly  stamped  upon  them. 
Ausonius  is  more  elegant,  more  correct,  more  licentious  than 
Fortunatus  ;  but,  speaking  literally,  the  bishop  is  a  continua- 
tion of  the  consul ;  Latin  tradition  was  not  dead  ;  it  had  passed 
into  the  Christian  society  ;  and  here  commences  that  imitation 
which,  amid  the  universal  overthrow,  unites  the  modern  lo 
the  ancient  world,  and,  at  a  later  period,  will  play  so  consi- 
derable a  part  in  all  literature. 

We  must  pause:  we  have  just  studied  the  intellectual  state 
of  Prankish  Gaul  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century.  Thia 
study  completes  for  us  that  of  the  development  of  our  civiliza- 
tion during  the  same  period,  that  is,  under  the  empire  of  the 
Merovingian  kings.  Another  epoch,  stamped  with  the  same 
character,  began  with  the  revolution  which  raised  the  family 
of  the  Pcpins  to  the  throne  of  the  Franks.  In  our  next  lec- 
ture 1  shall  attempt  to  describe  the  revolution  itself  j  and  we 
shall  then  enter  into  the  new  paths  which  it  forced  France  to 
take 


80 


878  HISTORY    Oir 


NINETEENTH   LECTURE. 

llie  causes  and  the  character  of  the  revolution  which  substituted  thf 
Carlovingians  for  the  Merovingians — Recapitulation  of  the  history  cf 
civilization  in  France  under  the  Merovingian  liings— The  Frankish 
state  in  its  relations  with  the  neighboring  nations — The  Frankish  state 
in  its  internal  organization — The  aristocrafical  element  prevailed 
in  it,  but  without  entirety  or  regularity— The  state  of  the  Frankish 
church — Episcopacy  prevails  in  it,  but  is  itself  thrown  into  decay- 
Two  new  powers  arise — 1st.  The  Austrasian  Franks — Mayors  of  the 
palace — The  family  of  the  Pepins — 2.  Papacy— Circumstances  fa- 
vorable to  its  progress — Causes  which  drew  and  united  the  Austra- 
sian Franks  to  the  popes — The  conversion  of  the  Germans  beyond  the 
Rhine — Relations  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  missionaries,  on  the  one  hand 
with  the  popes,  on  the  other,  with  the  mayors  of  the  palace  of  Aus- 
trayia— Saint  Boniface — The  popes  have  need  of  the  Austrasian 
Franks  against  the  Lombards — Pepin  le-Bref  has  need  of  tiie  pope  to 
make  himself  king — Their  alliance  and  the  new  direction  which  it 
impressed  upon  civilization — Conclusion  of  tiie  first  part  of  the 
course. 

We  have  arrived  at  the  eve  of  a  great  event,  of  tiie  revolu- 
lion  which  threw  the  last  of  the  Merovingians  into  a  cloister, 
and  carried  the  Carlovingians  to  the  throne  of  the  Franks.  It 
was  consummated  in  the  month  of  March,  752,  in  the  semi-lay 
and  semi-ecclesiastical  assembly  held  at  Soissons,  where  Pe- 
pin was  proclaimed  king,  and  consecrated  by  Boniface,  arch- 
bishop of  Mayence.  Never  was  a  revolution  brougiit  about 
with  less  effort  and  noise  ;  Pepin  possessed  the  power :  the  fact 
was  converted  into  rigiit ;  no  resistance  was  offered  him  ;  no 
protest  of  sufficient  importance  to  leave  a  trace  in  history. 
Everything  .seemed  to  remain  the  same  ;  a  title,  merely,  was 
changed.  Yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  tiiat  a  great  event 
was  thus  accomplisiied  ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  this 
change  was  the  inlication  of  the  end  of  a  particular  social 
state,  of  the  commencement  of  a  new  state,  a  crisis,  a  verita- 
ble epoch  in  the  history  of  French  civilization. 

It  13  the  crisis  that  I  wish  to  bring  before  you  at  present. 
I  wish  to  recapitulate  the  history  of  civilization  under  tlie 
Merovingians,  to  indicate  how  it  came  to  end  in  such  a  result, 
and  to  represent  the  new  character,   th«>.  new  direction  which 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  370 

it  was  obliged  to  take  under  the  Carlovinglans,  by  plainly 
setting  forth  the  transition  and  its  causes. 

Civil  society  and  religious  society  are  evidently  the  two- 
fold subject  of  this  recapitulation.  We  have  studied  them 
Beoaratcly,  and  in  their  relations;  we  shall  so  study  them  in 
the  period  upon  which  we  are  about  to  enter.  It  is  necessary 
•hat  we  should  know  exactly  at  what  point  they  had  each  ar- 
rived at  ihe  crisis  which  now  occupies  us,  and  what  was  their 
reciprocal  situation. 

i  commence  with  civil  society.  From  the  opening  of  this 
course,  we  have  been  speaking  of  the  foundation  of  modern 
states,  and  in  particular  of  the  Frank  state.  We  marked  its 
origin  at  the  reign  of  Clovis  ;  it  is  even  by  concession  that  we 
are  permitt(!d  not  to  go  farther  back,  not  to  go  to  Pharamond. 
Let  it  be  understood,  however,  that  even  in  the  epoch  at  which 
we  have  arrived,  at  the  end  of  the  Merovingian  race,  there 
was  nothing  established  which  the  Franko-Gaulish  society 
bad,  nothing  invested  with  a  somewhat  stable  and  general 
form,  that  no  principle  prevailed  in  it  so  completely  as  to 
regulate  it ;  that  neither  within  nor  without  did  the  Frankish 
Plate  exist;  that  in  Gaul  there  was  no  state  at  all. 

What  do  we  mean  by  a  State  ?  a  certain  extent  of  territory 
having  a  determinate  centre,  fixed  limits,  inhabited  by  men 
who  have  a  common  name,  and  live  involved,  in  certain 
••espects,  in  the  same  destiny.  Nothing  like  this  existed  in 
.he  middle  of  the  eighth  century,  in  what  we  now  call  France. 

You  know  how  many  kingdoms  had  there  alternately  ap- 
peared and  disappeared.  The  kingdoms  of  Metz,  Soissons, 
9rleans,  Paris,  had  given  place  to  the  kingdoms  of  Neustria, 
Austrasia,  Burgundy,  Aquitaine,  incessantly  changing  mas- 
ters,  frontiers,  extent,  and  importance  ;  reduced  at  length  to 
two,  the  kingdoms  of  Austrasia  and  Neustria,  even  these  two 
had  nothing  stable  or  regular,  their  chiefs  and  their  limits 
continually  varied ;  the  kings  and  the  provinces  continually 
passed  from  one  to  the  other  ;  so  that  even  in  the  interior  of 
the  territory  occupied  by  the  Frankish  population,  no  political 
association  had  any  consistency  or  firmness. 

The  external  frontiers  were  still  more  uncertain.  On  the 
east  and  north  the  movement  of  the  invasion  of  the  German 
nations  continued.  The  Thuringians,  the  Bavarians,  the 
Alhimandi,  the  Frisons,  the  Saxons,  incessantly  made  efforts 
to  pass  the  Rhine,  and  take  their  share  of  the  territory  which 
ihe  Franks  occupied.     In  order  to  resist  them,  the   Frankj 


380  HISTORY    OF 

crossed  the  Rhine  •  they  ravaged;  at  several  times,  ti^e  couu 
tries  of  the  Thuringians,  the  Allemandi,  and  the  Bavarians, 
and  reduced  these  nations  to  a  subocdinate  condition,  doubt- 
less very  precarious,  and  incapable  of  exact  definition.  But 
the  Prisons  and  Saxons  escaped  this  semi-defeat,  and  tho 
Austrasian  Franks  were  forced  to  maintain  an  incessant  war 
fare  against  them,  which  prevented  their  iVontiers  from  gain- 
ing the  least  regularity  on  this  side. 

On  the  v/est,  the  Britons  and  all  the  tribes  established  in 
the  peninsula  known  under  the  name  of  Armorica,  kept  the 
:Vontiers  of  the  Neustrian  Franks  in  the  same  state  of  uncer- 
tainty. 

In  the  south,  in  Provence,  Narbonnese,  and  Aquitaine,  it 
was  no  longer  from  the  movement  of  the  barbarous  and  half 
wandering  colonies  that  the  fluctuation  proceeded  ;  but  there 
was  fluctuation.  The  ancient  Roman  population  incessantly 
labored  to  regain  its  independence.  The  Franks  had  con- 
quered, but  did  not  fully  possess  these  countries.  When  tlieir 
great  incursions  ceased,  tlie  towns  and  country  districts  re- 
belled, and  confederated  in  order  to  shake  off'  the  yoke.  A 
new  cause  of  agitation  and  instability  was  joined  to  their 
efforts.  Mohammedanism  dates  its  rise  from  the  16th  of 
July,  022 ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  same  century,  or  at  least  at 
the  commencement  of  the  eighth,  it  inundated  the  south  of 
Italy,  nearly  the  whole  of  Spain,  the  south  of  Gaul,  and  made 
on  this  side  a  still  more  impetuous  effort  than  that  of  the  Ger- 
man nations  on  the  borders  of  the  Rhine.  Thus,  on  all 
points,  on  the  north,  tiie  east,  the  west,  and  the  south,  the 
Prankish  territory  was  incessantly  invaded,  its  frontiers 
changed  at  the  mercy  of  incessantly  repeated  incursions. 
Upon  the  whole,  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that,  in  this  vast 
extent  of  country,  the  Prankish  population  dominated  ;  it  was 
the  strongest,  the  most  numerous,  the  most  established  ;  but 
still  it  was  without  territorial  consistency,  without  political 
unity  ;  as  distinct  frontier  nations,  and  under  the  point  of  view 
of  the  law  of  nations,  the  state,  properly  so  called,  did  not 
exist. 

Let  us  enter  into  the  inteiior  of  the  Gaulo-Frankish  society  ; 
we  shall  not  find  it  any  more  advanced  j  it  will  offer  us  no 
greater  degree  of  entirety  or  fixedness. 

You  will  recollect  that,  m  examining  the  institutions  of  the 
German  nations  before  the  invasion,  I  showed  that  they  could 
tot  be  transplanted  into  the  Gaulish  territory,  and  that  the  free. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


H81 


institutions,  in  particular  the  government  of  public  alFairs  by 
assemblies  of  free  men,  become  inapplicable  to  the  new  situa- 
tion of  the  conquerors,  had  almost  entirely  perished.  Even  the 
class  of  free  men,  that  condition  of  which  individual  indcpend. 
cnce  and  equality  were  the  essential  characteristics,  continually 
diminished  in  number  and  importance  ;  it  was  evidently  not 
this  class,  nor  the  system  of  institutions  and  it)fluences  analo- 
gous to  its  nature,  that  was  to  prevail  in  the  Gaulo-Frankish 
society,  and  govern  it.  Liberty  was  then  a  cafise  of  disorder, 
not  a  principle  of  organization. 

In  the  first  periods  following  the  invasion,  royalty,  as  yon 
have  seen,  made  some  progress  ;  it  collected  s;  me  wreck  of  the 
inheritance  of  the  empire  ;  religious  ideas  gave  it  some  power  : 
but  this  progress  soon  stopped  ;  the  time  of  the  centraliza- 
tion  of  power  was  still  far  distant  ;  all  means  of  gaining  obe- 
dience  were  wanting ;  obstacles  arose  on  all  sides.  The 
speedy  and  irremediable  humiliation  of  the  Merovingian  royalty 

proves  how  little  capable  the  monarchical  principle  was  of  pos- 
sessing  and  regulating  the  Gaulo-Frankish  society.  It  was 
nearly  as  impotent  as  the  principle  of  free  institutions. 

The  uristocratical  principle  prevailed:  it  was  to  tiic  great 
proprietors,  each  on  his  domain,  to  the  companions  of  the 
king,  the  antrustions,  leudes,/cZe/e5,  that  the  power  actually 
belonged.  But  the  aristocrat ical  principle  itself  was  incapable 
of  giving  any  stable  or  general  organization  to  society  ;  it 
prevailed  in  it,  but  with  as  much  disorder  as  would  have 
flowed  from  any  other  system,  without  conferring  any  more 
simple  or  regular  form.  Consult  all  modern  historians  who 
have  attempted  to  describe  and  explain  this  epoch.  Some 
have  sought  its  key  in  the  struggle  of  the  free  men  against  the 
leudes,  that  is,  the  conquering  nation  against  that  which  was 
to  become  the  nobility  of  the  court;  others  adhere  to  the 
diversity  of  races,  and  will  speak  of  the  struggle  of  the  Ger. 
mans  against  the  Gauls ;  others,  again,  attach  great  import- 
ance to  the  struggle  of  the  clergy  agaii.st  the  laity,  the  bishops 
against  the  great  barbarian  proprietors,  and  there  see  the  secret 
of  most  of  the  events.  Others,  again,  especially  insist  upon 
the  struggle  of  the  kings  themselves  against  their  companions, 
their  leudes,  who  aspired  to  the  rendering  themselves  inde- 
pendent,  and  annulling  and  invading  the  royal  power.  All, 
in  some  measure,  have  a  dilTerent  word  for  the  enigma  which 
the  social  state  of  this  epoch  presents:  a  great  reason  for  pre- 
Burning  that  no  word  can  explain  it.     All  these  struggles, 


382  HloTOBY    OF 

in  fpct,  existed  ;  all  these  forces  contested  vvithcut  any  of 
them  gaining  enough  of  the  ascendency  to  dominate  with 
any  regularity.  The  aristocratic  tendency,  which  must  have 
arisen  later  than  the  feudal  system,  was  certainly  dominant ; 
l>ut  no  institution,  no  permanent  organization,  could  yet  ariae 
1  -om  it. 

Thus,  within  and  without,  whether  ive  consider  the  sociul 
order  or  the  political  order,  everything  was  restless,  incessantly 
brought  into  question  ;  nothing  appeared  destined  to  a  long  ol 
powerful  development. 

From  civil  society  let  us  pass  to  relij^'ious  society ;  the 
recapitulation,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  show  it  to  he  in  the  same 
state. 

The  idea  of  the  unity  of  the  church  was  general  and  domi- 
nant  in  minds ;  but  in  facts  it  was  far  from  having  the  same 
extension,  the  same  power.  No  general  principle,  no  govern- 
ment, properly  so  called,  reigned  in  the  Gaulo-Frankish 
church  ;  it  was,  like  civil  society,  an  entire  chaos. 

And  first,  tlie  remains  of  the  free  institutions  which  had 
presided  at  the  first  development  of  Ciiristianity,  had  almost 
entirely  disappeared.  You  have  seen  them  gradually  reduced 
to  the  participation  of  the  clergy  in  the  election  of  bishops,  to 
the  influence  of  councils  in  tlie  general  administration  of  the 
church.  You  have  seen  the  election  of  bishops,  and  the  influ- 
enco  of  Councils  decline,  and  almost  vanish  in  their  turn.  At 
the  commencement  of  the  eiglith  century,  a  mere  vain  shadow 
remained  of  them  j  the  bishops,  for  the  most  part,  owed  their 
elevation  to  the  orders  of  kings,  or  of  the  mayors  of  the  palace, 
or  to  some  such  form  of  violence.  Councils  scarcely  ever 
met.  No  legal,  constituted  liberty  preserved  any  real  power 
in  the  religious  society. 

We  have  seen  the  dawn  of  universal  monarchy  ;  we  iiavo 
seen  papacy  take  a  marked  ascendency  in  the  west.  Do  not 
suppose,  however,  that  at  the  epoch  which  occupies  us,  and 
in  Gaul  especially,  this  ascendency  resembled  a  real  authority 
a  form  of  government.  Nay,  at  the  end  of  the  seventh  cen- 
tury  it  vas  in  a  rapid  decay.  When  the  Franks  were  esta- 
blished in  Gaul,  the  popes  tried  to  preserve  with  these  new 
masters  the  credit  which  they  had  enjoyed  under  the  Roman 
empire.  At  tlie  fifth  century,  the  bishop  of  Rome  possessed 
eonsiderable  domains  in  southern  Gaul,  especially  in  the  dio- 
cese  of  Aries,  a  powerful  means  of  relation  and  influence  with 
diose  countries.     They  remained   to  him  under  the  Visigoth 


riVILIZATION    IN    FHANCE. 


888 


Bur.nindian,  or  Frank  kings,  and  the  bishop  of  Aries  continued 
to  be  habitually  his  vicar,  as  much  for  his  personal  interests 
as  for  the  general  afiairs  of  the  church.  Tlius  the  relations 
of  the  popes  with  the  Frank  kings  were  frequent  in  the  sixth 
and  at  the  beginning  of  tiie  seventh  century  ;  numerous  monu- 
ments of  them  have  come  down  to  us;  among  others,  a  letter 
from  Gregory  the  Great  to  Brunehault ;  and,  upon  some 
occasions,  the  Franks  themselves  liad  recourse  to  the  inter- 
vention of  papacy.  But  in  the  course  of  the  seventh  century, 
by  a  multitude  of  rather  complex  causes,  this  intervention 
almost  entirely  ceased.  We  find  from  Gregory  the  Great 
to  Gregory  II.  (from  the  year  604  to  the  year  715)  scarcely 
a  single  letter,  a  single  document,  which  proves  any  cor- 
respondence between   the  masters  of  Frankish  Gaul  and  the 

papacy.  j   •     i-.     i     u 

The  prodigious  disorder  which  then  reigned  m  Gaul,  the 
instability  of  all  kingdoms,  and  of  all  kings,  doubtless  contri- 
DUted  to'  it ;  no  one  had  any  time  to  think  of  contracting  or 
keeping  up  relations  so  distant;  everything  was  decided  at 
once  u'pon  the  spot,  and  on  direct  and  immediate  motives. 
Beyond  the  Alps  almost  equal  disorder  reigned  ;  the  Lombards 
invaded  Italy,  and  menaced  Rome  ;  a  personal  and  pressing 
danger  retained  the  attention  of  the  papacy  within  the  circle 
of  its  own  peculiar  interests.  Besides,  the  composition  of  the 
episcopacy  of  the  Gauls  was  no  longer  the  same;  many  bar- 
barians  had  entered  into  it,  strangers  to  all  the  recollections, 
all  the  customs  which  had  so  long  united  the  Gaulish  bishops 
to  the  bishop  of  Rome.  All  circumstances  concurred  to  make 
null  the  religious  relations  between  Rome  and  Gaul ;  so  that 
at  the  end  of  the  seventh  century,  the  Gaulo-Frankish  church 
was  no  more  governed  by  the  principle  of  universal  monarchy 
than  by  that  of  common  deliberation  ;  papacy  was  scarcely 
more  powerful  ihan  liberty. 

There,  as  elsewhere,  in  religious  society,  as  in  civil  society, 
the  aristocratical  principle  had  prevailed.  It  was  to  episco- 
pacy that  the  government  of  the  Gaulo-Frankish  church  be- 
longed. It  was  administered  during  the  fifth  and  sixth  cen- 
turies, with  a  good  deal  of  regularity  and  continuity  ;  but  in 
the  course  of  the  seventh,  from  the  causes  which  I  have  al- 
ready spoken  of,  the  episcopal  aristocracy  fell  into  the  samo 
corruption,  the  same  anarchy  which  seized  upon  the  civil 
aristocracy  ;  the  metropolitans  lost  all  authority  ;  mere  pijiests 
lost  all  influence ;  many  bishops  recVoned  more  on  their  influ 


.194  HISTORY    OF 

ence  as  proprietors,  than  on  their  mission  as  chiefs  of  tlifi 
church.  Many  of  the  lait)  veceived  or  usurped  the  bishop, 
rics  as  private  domains.  Each  occupied  iiimself  with  hia 
temporal  or  diocesan  interests ;  all  unity  vanished  in  the  go- 
vernment of  the  secular  clergy.  The  monastic  order  pre- 
sented a  similar  aspect;  the  rule  of  Saint  Benedict  was  com 
nionly  adopted  in  it,  but  no  general  administration  connecteo 
the  various  establishments  among  themselves  ;  each  monastery 
ruled  and  governed  itself  apart;  so  that,  at  the  end  of  tn« 
seventh  century,  the  aristocratical  system  which  dominaicc 
alike  in  church  and  state,  was  here  almost  as  disordered,  iu- 
most  as  incapable  of  giving  rise  to  any  approach  to  a  geuf  rui 
and  regular  government. 

Nothing,  therefore,  was  established  at  this  epoch,  in  eilhei 
one  or  other  of  the  two  societies  from  which  modern  society 
has  arisen.  The  absence  of  rule  and  public  authority  was, 
perhaps,  more  complete  than  immediately  after  the  fall  of  the 
empire  ;  then,  at  all  events,  the  wrecks  of  Roman  and  German 
institutions  still  subsisted,  and  maintained  some  kind  of  social 
urder  amidst  the  most  agitated  events.  When  the  fall  of  the 
Merovingian  race  approached,  even  these  wrecks  had  fallen 
into  ruin,  and  no  new  edifice  had  as  yet  arisen  ;  there  waa 
scarcely  a  trace  of  the  imperial  administration,  or  of  the  7nnls 
or  assemblies  of  the  free  men  of  Germany,  and  the  feudal 
organization  was  not  seen.  Perhaps  at  no  epoch  has  the  chaos 
been  so  great,  or  the  State  had  so  little  existence. 

Still,  under  this  general  dissolution,  two  new  forces,  two 
principles  of  organization  and  government,  were  being  pre- 
pared in  civil  and  religious  society,  destined  to  approach  each 
otiier  and  to  unite,  in  order,  at  last,  to  make  an  attemjjt  to  put 
an  end  to  the  chaos,  and  to  give  to  church  and  state  the  en- 
tirety and  fixity  which  they  wanted. 

Whoever  will  observe,  attentively,  the  distribution  of  the 
Franks  over  the  Gaulish  territory,  from  the  sixth  to  the 
eighth  century,  will  bo  struck  with  a  considerai)le  dillercnce 
between  the  Franks  of  Austrusia,  situated  on  the  borders  of 
the  Rhine,  the  Moselle,  and  the  Mouse,  and  that  of  the  Franks 
of  Neustria,  transplanted  into  the  centre,  the  west  and  the 
south  of  Gaul.  Tiie  first  were  probably  more  numerous,  and 
certainly  less  dispersed.  They  still  kept  to  that  soil  whence 
the  Germans  drew  their  power  and  fertility,  so  to  speak,  us 
Antaeus  did  from  the  earth.  The  Rhine  alone  separated  them 
Irom  anciei.t    Germany;  they    lived    in    continual    relation 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  38B 

hostilo  or  pacific,  witli  the  German  and  partly  Frunkish 
colonies  who  inhabited  the  right  bank.  Still  they  were  well 
established  in  their  new  country,  and  wished  firmly  to  guard 
it.  They  were  also  less  separated  from  the  manners  of  the 
ancient  German  society  than  were  the  Neustrian  Franks,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  having  become  proprietors,  they  daily  more 
and  more  contracted  tlie  wants  and  hal)its  of  their  new  situa- 
tion, and  of  the  social  organization  which  might  be  adapted  to 
it.  Two  facts,  apparently  contradictory,  bring  out  into  bold 
relief  this  particular  characteristic  of  the  Austrasian  Franks. 
It  was  more  especially  from  Austrasia  that  those  bands  of 
warriors  set  out  whom  we  see,  in  the  course  of  the  sixth  and 
seventh  centuries,  still  spreading  over  Italy  and  the  south  of 
jraul,  and  there  abandoning  themselves  to  a  life  of  incursion 
and  pillage  ;  and  yet  it  is  in  Austrasia  that  the  most  remarka- 
ble  monuments  of  the  passage  of  the  Franks  into  the  condition 
of  proprietors  are  seen ;  upon  the  borders  of  the  Rhine,  the 
Moselle,  and  the  Mouse,  are  the  strongest  of  those  habitations 
of  theirs  which  became  castles,  so  that  Austrasian  society  is 
the  most  complete  and  faithful  image  of  the  ancient  manners 
and  the  new  situation  of  the  Franks  ;  it  is  there  that  one  least 
meets  with  Roman  or  heterogeneous  elements  ;  it  is  there  that 
the  spirit  of  conquest  and  the  territorial  spirit,  the  instincts  of 
the  proprietor  and  those  of  the  warrior  are  allied,  and  display 
themselves  with  the  greatest  energy. 

A  fact  so  important  could  not  fail  to  become  evident,  and  to 
exercise  a  great  influence  over  the  course  of  events  ;  the  Aus- 
trasian society  could  not  but  give  rise  to  some  institution, 
some  povver,  which  expressed  and  developed  its  character. 
This  was  the  part  taken  of  its  mayors  of  the  palace,  and  in 
particular  by  the  family  of  the  Pepins. 

The  mayor  of  the  palace  is  met  with  in  all  the  Frankish 
kingdoms.  I  shall  not  enter  here  into  a  long  history  of  the 
institution,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  remarking  its  character 
and  general  vicissitudes.  The  mayors  were  at  first  merely 
the  first  superintendents,  the  first  administrators  of  the  interior 
of  the  palace  of  the  king;  the  chiefs  whom  he  put  at  the  head 
of  his  companions,  of  his  leudes,  still  united  around  him.  It 
was  their  duty  to  maintain  order  among  the  king's  men,  to 
=idminisler  justice,  to  look  to  all  the  affairs,  to  all  the  wants, 
jf  that  great  domestic  society.  They  were  the  men  of  the 
King  with  the  leudes ;    this  was  their  first  character,  their  firs/ 


Byfl  HISTORY    OF 

Now  for  the  second.  After  having  exercised  the  power  of 
the  lung  over  his  Icudes,  his  mayors  of  the  palace  usurped  il 
to  their  own  profit.  The  leudes,  by  grants  of  public  chargea 
and  fiefs,  were  not  long  before  thev  became  great  proprietors. 
This  new  situation  was  superioi  .o  that  of  companions  of  the 
king;  they  detached  themselves  from  him,  and  united  in 
order  to  defend  their  common  interests.  According  as  their 
fortune  dictated,  the  mayors  of  the  palace  sometimes  resisted 
them,  more  often  united  with  them,  and,  at  first  servants  of 
the  king,  they  at  last  became  the  chiefs  of  an  aristocracy, 
against  whom  royalty  could  do  nothing. 

These  are  the  two  principal  phases  of  this  institution  :  it 
gained  more  extension  and  fixedness  in  Austrasia,  in  the 
family  of  the  Pepins,  who  possessed  it  almost  a  century  and  a  half, 
than  anywhere  else.  At  once  great  proprietors,  usufructuaries 
of  the  royal  power,  and  warlike  chiefs,  Pepin-le-Vieux,  Pepin 
I'Heristal,  Charles  Martel,  and  Pepin-le-Bref,  by  turns  de- 
fended these  various  interests,  appropriated  their  power  to 
themselves,  and  thus  found  themselves  the  representatives  of 
the  aristoci'acy,  of  royalty,  and  of  that  mind,  at  once  territo- 
rial  and  conquering,  which  animated  the  Franks  of  Austrasia, 
and  secured  to  them  the  preponderance.  There  resided  the 
principle  of  life  and  organization  which  was  to  take  hold  of 
civil  society,  and  draw  it,  at  least  for  some  time,  from  the 
siaie  of  anarchy  and  impotence  into  which  it  was  plunged. 
The  Pepins  were  the  depositories  of  its  power,  the  instrument 
of  its  action. 

In  the  religious  society,  but  out  of  the  Frank  territory,  a 
power  was  also  developed  capable  of  introducing,  or  at  least 
of  attempting  to  introduce,  order  and  reformation  into  it :  this 
was  papacy. 

I  ishall  not  repeat  here  what  I  have  already  said  of  the  first 
origin  of  papacy,  and  of  the  religious  causes  to  which  it  owed 
the  progressive  extension  of  its  power.  Independently  of 
these  causes,  and  in  a  purely  temporal  point  of  view,  the 
bishop  of  Rome  found  himself  placed  in  the  most  favorable 
Bituation.  Three  circumstances,  you  will  recollect,  especially 
conlributol  to  establish  the  power  of  the  bishops  in  general  : 
Ist,  their  vast  domains,  which  caused  them  tc  take  a  place  in 
tha.  hierarchy  of  great  proprietors  to  which  European  society 
had  belonged  for  so  long  a  period  ;  2d,  their  intervention  in 
the  municipal  system,  and  the  preponderance  which  tliej 
•^xerci&ed   in  cities,  by  being  directly  or  indirectly  receiving 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  881 

Ihe  inheritance  of  the  ancient  magistracies  ;  3d,  their  quality 
as  councillors  of  the  temporal  power;  they  surrounded  the 
new  kings,  and  directed  them  in  their  attempts  at  govern- 
ment. Upon  this  triple  base  the  episcopal  power  raised 
itself  in  the  rising  states.  The  bishop  of  Rome  was,  more 
than  any  other,  prepared  to  profit  by  it.  Like  others,  he  waa 
a  great  proprietor.  At  a  very  early  period  he  possessed  con- 
siderable  domains  in  the  Campagna  di  Roma,  in  the  south  of 
Italy,  and  upon  the  borders  of  the  Adriatic  sea.  Considered 
as  a  councillor  of  the  temporal  power,  no  one  had  so  good  a 
chance  :  instead,  like  the  Frank,  Spanish,  Anglo-Saxon, 
bishops,  of  being  the  servant  of  a  king  present,  he  was  the 
representative,  the  vicar  of  a  king  absent ;  he  depended  on 
the  emperor  of  the  east,  a  sovereign  who  rarely  cramped  his 
administration,  and  never  eclipsed  it.  The  empire,  it  is 
true,  had  other  representatives  than  the  pope  in  Italy  ;  the 
exarch  of  Ravenna,  and  a  duke  who  resided  at  Rome,  were 
the  real  delegates  with  regard  to  the  civil  administration ; 
but,  in  the  interior  of  Rome,  the  attributes  of  the  bishop 
in  civil  matters,  and  in  default  of  attributes,  his  infiuence  in 
other  respects,  conferred  almost  all  the  power  upon  him.  The 
emperors  neglected  nothing  to  retain  him  in  their  dependence; 
fhey  carefully  preserved  the  right  of  confirming  his  election  ; 
he  paid  them  certain  tributes,  and  constantly  maintained  at 
Constantinople,  under  the  name  of  Apocrisiary,  an  agent 
charged  to  manage  all  his  afiairs  there,  and  to  answer  for 
his  fidelity.  But  if  these  precautions  retarded  the  complete 
and  external  emancipation  of  the  popes,  it  did  not  prevent 
their  independence  being  great,  nor,  under  the  title  of  dele- 
gates of  the  emperor,  their  daily  approaching  nearer  to  be^ 
coming  its  successors. 

As  municipal  magistrates,  as  chiefs  of  the  people  within  the 
walls  of  Rome,  their  sit'iation  was  not  less  advantageous. 
You  have  seen  that  in  the  remainder  of  the  west,  particularly 
in  Gaul,  and  as  the  inevitable  effect  of  the  disasters  of  the  in- 
vasion,  the  municipal  system  was  declining  ;  there  certainly 
remained  its  wrecks,  and  the  bishop  almost  alone  disposed  of 
I  hem  ;  but  they  were  only  wrecks  ;  the  importance  of  the 
municipal  magistrates  was  daily  lowered  under  the  violent 
dIows  of  counts,  or  other  barbarous  chiefs.  It  was  far  from 
being  thus  in  Rome:  there  the  municipal  system,  instead 
of  being  weakened,  was  fortified.  Rome  in  no  way  remained 
iij  the  possfcssirn  of  the  barbarians  ;  they  only  pillaged  it  in 
45 


688  HISTORY    OF 

passing  ;  the  imperial  power  was  too  distant  to  be  real ;  the 
municipal  system  soon  became  the  only  government ;  the  in- 
flu(jnce  of  the  Roman  people  in  its  atfairs  was  much  more 
active,  much  more  efficacious,  at  the  sixth  and  seventh  cen 
turies,  than  it  had  been  in  preceding  ages.  The  municipal 
magistrates  became  political  magistrates  ;  and  the  bishop,  who, 
under  forms  more  or  less  fixed,  by  means  more  or  less  direct, 
was  in  some  measure  their  chief,  took  the  first  lead  in  this 
general  and  unperceived  elevation  towards  a  kind  of  sove- 
reignty, wliile  elsewhere  the  episcopal  power  arose  not  be- 
yond  the  limits  of  a  narrow  and  doubtful  administration. 

Thus,  as  proprietors,  councillors  of  sovereign,  and  as  popu- 
lar  magistrates,  the  bishops  of  Rome  had  the  best  cliances ; 
and  while  religious  circumstances  tended  to  increase  their 
power,  political  circumstances  had  the  same  result,  and  im- 
pelled them  in  the  same  paths.  Thus,  in  the  course  of  the 
pixth  and  seventh  centuries,  papacy  gained  a  degree  of  impor- 
tance in  Italy,  which  it  had  formerly  been  very  far  from 
possessing  ;  and  although  at  the  end  of  this  epoch  it  was  a 
stranger  to  Prankish  Gaul,  although  its  relations  both  with  the 
kings  and  with  the  Frank  clergy  liad  become  rare,  yet,  such 
was  its  general  progress,  that  in  setting  foot  again  in  the  mon- 
archy of  the  Prankish  church,  it  did  not  fail  to  appear  there 
with  a  force  and  credit  superior  to  all  rivalry. 

Here,  then,  we  see  two  new  powers  which  were  formed 
and  confirmed  amidst  the  general  dissolution  ;  in  the  Prank 
state,  the  mayors  of  the  palace  of  Austrasia  ;  in  the  Christian 
church,  the  popes  ;  here  are  two  active,  energetic  principles, 
which  seem  disposed  to  take  possession,  the  one  of  civil 
society,  the  other  of  religious  society,  and  capable  of  attempt- 
ing some  work  of  organization,  of  establishing  some  govern- 
ment therein. 

It  was,  in  fact,  by  the  influence  of  these  two  principles, 
and  of  their  alliance,  that,  in  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century, 
the  great  crisis  of  which  we  seek  the  character  shone  forth. 

After  the  fiflii  century,  papacy  took  the  lead  in  the  con. 
version  of  the  pagans  ;  the  clergy  of  the  various  spates  of  the 
west,  occupied  both  in  its  religious  local  duties,  and  in  its 
temporal  duties,  had  almost  abandoned  this  great  enterprise ; 
the  monks  alone,  more  interested  and  less  indolent,  continued 
to  occupy  themselves  arduously  In  it.  The  bishop  of  Rome 
undertook  to  direct  them,  and  they  in  general  accepted  him 
for  a  chief.     At  the  end  of  the   sixth  century,  Gregory  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  88P 

fj!ient  accomjilislied  the  most  important  of  these  conrersions, 
lliat  of  the  Ai\glo-Saxons  established  in  Britain.  By  his 
orders,  Roman  monks  set  out  to  undertake  it.  They  began 
with  the  county  of  Kent,  and  Augustin,  one  among  them, 
«as  the  first  archbishop  of  Canterbury.  The  Anglo-Saxon 
cliurch  was  thus,  at  the  seventh  century,  the  only  one  in  the 
west  which  owed  its  origin  to  the  Romish  church.  Italy, 
Spain,  and  Gaul,  had  become  Christian  without  the  help  of 
papacy  ;  their  churches  were  not  bound  to  that  of  Rome 
by  a  filial  power;  they  were  her  sistc. s,  not  her  daughters. 
Britain,  on  the  contrary,  received  her  faith  and  her  first 
preachers  from  Rome.  She  was,  therefore,  at  this  epoch, 
far  more  than  any  other  church  in  the  west,  in  habitual 
correspondence  with  the  popes,  devoted  to  their  interests, 
docile  to  their  authority.  By  a  natural  consequence,  and 
also  by  reason  of  the  similitude  of  idioms,  it  was  more 
especially  with  the  Anglo-Saxon  monks  that  the  popes  under- 
'ook  the  conversion  of  the  other  pagan  nat'ons  of  Europe, 
among  others,  of  Germany.  One  need  only  glance  over  the 
lives  of  the  saints  of  the  seventh  and  eighth  centuries  to  be 
convinced  that  the  greater  part  of  the  missionaries  sent  to 
the  Bavarians,  the  Prisons,  the  Saxons,  Willibrod,  Rupert 
VVillibald,  Winfried,  came  from  Britain.  They  could  not 
labor  at  this  work  without  entering  into  frequent  relations 
with  the  Austrasian  Franks,  and  their  chiefs.  The  Austra- 
sians  on  all  sides  bordered  the  nations  beyond  the  Rhine,  and 
were  incessantly  struggling  to  prevent  them  from  again  in- 
undating the  west.  The  missionaries  were  obliged  to 
traverse  their  territory,  and  to  obtain  their  support,  in  order 
to  penetrate  into  the  barbarous  countries.  They  therefore 
failed  not  to  claim  that  support.  Gregory  the  Great  even 
ordered  the  monks  whom  he  sent  into  Britain  to  pass  through 
Austrasia,  and  recommended  them  to  the  two  kings,  Theodoric 
and  Theodebert,  who  then  reigned  at  Chalons  and  at  Me^tz. 
The  recommendation  was  far  more  necessary  and  pressing 
when  the  matter  in  hand  was  to  convert  the  German  colonies. 
The  Austrasian  chiefs  on  their  side,  Arnoul,  Pepin  I'Herital, 
and  Charles  Martel,  were  not  long  in  foreseeing  what  advan- 
tages such  labors  might  have  for  them.  In  becoming  Chris- 
tians,  these  troublesome  colonies  were  obliged  to  beome 
fixed,  to  submit  to  some  regular  influence,  at  least  to  enter  into 
.he  path  of  civilization.  Besides,  the  missionaries  were  ex. 
cellent  explorers  of  those  countries  with  which  cr  mmunication 


390  HISTORY    OF 

was  so  difficult  of  accomplishment ;  by  their  mediation  could 
be  procured  information  and  advice.  Where  could  be  found 
Buch  skilful  agents,  such  useful  allies  ?  Accordingly,  Iho 
alliance  was  soon  concluded.  It  was  in  Austrasia  that  the 
missionaries  who  were  spread  over  Germany  found  their  prin. 
cipal  fulcrum  ;  it  was  from  thence  that  they  set  out,  to  it  that 
they  returned  j  it  was  to  the  kingdom  of  Austrasia  that  they 
annexed  their  spiritual  conquests  ;  it  was  with  the  masters 
of  Austrasia  on  the  one  hand,  and  with  the  popes  on  the 
other,  that  they  were  in  intimate  and  constant  correspond, 
ence.  Glance  at  the  life,  follow  the  works  of  the  most  illus. 
trious  and  most  powerful  among  them,  namely,  Saint 
Boniface,  and  you  will  recognize  all  the  facts  of  which  I 
have  just  spoken. 

Saint  Boniface  was  an  Anglo-Saxon,  born  about  680,  at 
Crediton,  in  the  county  of  Devon,  and  called  Winfried.  A 
monk  in  the  monastery  of  Exeter  at  a  very  early  period,  and 
later,  in  that  of  Nutsell,  it  is  not  known  whence  came  his  de- 
sign of  devoting  himself  to  the  conversion  of  the  German 
nations  ;  perhaps  he  merely  followed  tlie  example  of  many 
of  his  compatriots.  However  this  may  be,  from  the  year 
715,  we  find  him  preaching  amidst  the  Prisons;  incessantly 
renewed  warfare  between  them  and  the  Austrasian  Franks 
drove  him  from  their  country  ;  he  returned  to  his  own,  and 
re-entered  the  monastery  of  Nutsell.  In  718,  we  encounter 
him  at  Rome,  receiving  from  pope  Gregory  II.  a  formal 
mission,  and  instructions  for  the  conversion  of  the  Germans. 
He  goes  from  Rome  into  Austrasia,  corresponds  with  Charles 
Martel,  passes  the  Rhine,  and  pursues  his  enormous  enterprise 
with  indefatigable  perseverance  among  the  Prisons,  the  Thu- 
ringians,  the  Bavarians,  the  Catti,  and  the  Saxons.  His  entire 
life  was  devoted  to  it,  and  it  was  always  with  Rome  that 
were  connected  his  works.  In  723,  Gregory  II.  nominated 
him  bishop  ;  in  732,  Gregory  III.  conferred  upon  him  the  titles 
of  archbishop  and  apostolic  vicar  ;  in  738,  Winfried,  who  no 
longer  bore  the  name  of  Boniface,  made  a  new  journey  to 
Rome,  in  order  to  regulate  definitively  the  relations  of  the 
Christian  church  which  he  had  just  founded,  with  Christianity 
in  general  ;  and  for  him  Rome  is  the  centre,  the  pope  is  the 
chief  of  Christianity.  It  was  to  the  profit  of  papacy  that  he  sent 
111  all  directions  the  missionaries  placed  under  his  orders, 
erected  bishoprics,  conquered  nations.  Here  is  the  oath  which 
fte  took  whon  the  pope  nominated  him  archbishop  of  Mayenco, 


CIVILIZATION   IN    FRANCE.  391 


an.l  metropolitan  of  the  bishoprics  which  he  sliould   found  in 

Germany.  „  ^    ,   x  •     .    .i 

"  I,  Boniface,  bishop  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  promise  to  thee, 
blessed  Peter,  prince  of  the  apostles,   and   to  thy  vicar,  the 
holy  Gregory,  and  to  his  successors,  by  the  Father,  the  bon, 
and  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  holy  and  indivisible  Irinity,  and   by 
thy  sacred   body,   here   present,   always    to    keep  a    perfect 
fidelity  to  the  holy  catholic  faith  ;  to  remain,  with  the  aid  ot 
God,  in  the  unity  of  that  faith,  upon  which,  without  doubt, 
depends  the  whole  salvation  of  Christians  ;  not  to  ler/j  mysclt, 
upon  the  instigation  of  any  one,  to   anything  which  can  be 
against  the  universal  church,  and  to  prove,  in  all  things,  my 
fidelity,  the  pureness  of  my  faith,  and   my  entire  devotion  to 
thee,  to  the  interests  of  thy  church,  who  hast  received  from 
God  the  power  to   tie  and  to   untie,  to  thy  said  vicar,  and  to 
his  successors:  and  if  I  learn  that  the  bishops  are  against  the 
ancient  rule  of  the  holy  fathers,  I  promise  to  have  no  alliance 
nor  communion  with  them,  any  more  than  to  repress  them  it 
I  am  able  :  if  not,  I  will   at  once  inform  my  apostolic  lord. 
And  if  (which  God  forbid!)  I  ever,  whether  by  will  or  occa- 
sion, do  anything  against  these  my  promises,  let  me  be  lound 
guilty  at   the  eternal  judgment— let   me  incur  the  chastise- 
mcnt  of  Ananias  and  of  Sapphira,  who  dared  to  he  unto  you, 
and  despoil  you  of  part  of  their   property.     I,  Boniface,  an 
humble  bishop,  have  with  my  own  hand  written  this  attests- 
tion  of  oath,  and  depositing  it  on  the  most  sacred  body  ot    he 
sacred  Peter,  I  have,  as  it  is  prescribed,  taking  God  to  judge 
and  witness,  made  the  oath,  which  I  promise  to  keep. 

To  this  oath  I  add  the  statement  which  Boniface  himsell 
has  transmitted  to  us  of  the  decrees  of  the  first  German 
council  held  under  his  presidence  in  742  : 

"  In  our  synodal  meeting,  we  have  declared  and  decreed 
that  to  the  end  of  our  life  we  desire  to  hold  the  catholic  faitli 
and  unity,  and  submission  to  the  Roman  church,  Saint  Peter, 
and  his  vicar  ;  that  we  will  every  year  assemble  the  synod  ; 
that  the  metropolitans  shall  demand  the  pallium  from  the  see 
■){  Rome,  and  that  we  will  canonically  follow  all  the  precepts 
of  Peter,  to  the  end  that,  we  may  be  reckoned  among  the 
number  of  his  sheep,  and  we  have  consented  and  subscribed 


.  S.  Bonif.  Epist.,  cp.  118;    Bib.   Pat.,  vol.  xiii.,  p.  119;  ed    ot 
Lyons. 


302  HISTORY    OF 

10  this  profession.  I  have  sent  it  to  the  body  of  Saint  Fcter 
prince  of  the  apostles,  and  the  clergy  and  the  pontift  have 
joyfully  received  it. 

"  If  any  bishop  can  correct  or  reform  anything  in  his  dio- 
cese, let  him  propose  the  reformation  in  the  synod  before  the 
archbishops  and  all  there  present,  even  as  we  ourselves  have 
promised  with  oath  to  the  Roman  church.  Should  we  seellie 
priests  and  people  breaking  the  law  of  God,  and  wo  are  unable 
to  correct  them,  we  will  faithfully  iiiform  the  apostolic  see, 
and  the  vicar  of  Saint  Peter,  in  order  to  accomplish  the  said 
reform.  It  is  thus,  if  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  tliat  all  bishops 
should  render  an  account  to  the  metropolitan,  and  he  to  the 
pontiff  of  Rome,  of  that  which  they  do  not  succeed  in  re- 
forming among  the  people,  and  thus  they  will  not  have  thp 
blood  of  lost  souls  upon  their  heads.'" 

Of  a  surety,  it  is  impossible  more  formally  to  submit 
the  new  church,  the  new  Christian  nations  to  the  papal 
power. 

A  scruple,  which  I  must  express,  impedes  my  progress :  1 
fear  that  you  are  tempted  to  see  more  especially  in  this  con- 
duct of  Saint  Boniface  the  influence  of  temporal  motives,  of 
ambitious  and  interested  combinations :  it  is  a  good  deal  the 
disposition  of  our  time ;  and  we  are  even  a  little  inclined  to 
boast  of  it,  as  a  proof  of  our  liberty  of  mind  and  our  good 
sense.  Most  certainly  led  us  judge  all  things  in  full  liberty 
of  mind  ;  let  the  severest  good  sense  preside  ut  our  judgments  ; 
but  let  us  feel  that,  wherever  we  meet  witii  great  things  and 
great  men,  there  are  other  motives  than  ambitious  combina- 
lions  and  personal  interests.  Lei  it  be  known  that  tlie  thought 
of  man  can  be  elevated,  that  its  iiorizon  can  be  extended  only 
when  he  becomes  detached  from  the  world  and  from  himself  j 
and  that,  if  egoism  plays  a  great  part  in  history,  that  of  dis- 
interested and  moral  activity  is,  in  the  eyes  of  the  most  rigor- 
ous critic,  i;  finitely  superior  to  it.  Boniface  proves  it  as  well 
as  others.  !\.ll  devoted  as  he  was  to  the  court  of  Rome,  he 
could,  when  need  was,  speak  truth  to  it,  reproach  it  with  its 
evil,  and  urge  it  to  take  heed  to  itself.  He  learned  that  it 
granted  certain  indulgences,  that  it  permitted  certain  licences 
which  scandalized  severe  consciences.  He  wrote  to  the  popr. 
Zachary  : 


'  Labbi,  Couiic.y  vol.  xi  ,  col    1.544-45 


C3VIL1ZATION    IN    FRANCE.  898 

"  These  carnal  men,  these  simple  Germans,  or  Bavarians, 
or  Franks,  if  they  see  things  done  at  Rome  which  we  forbid, 
puppose  that  it  has  been  permitted  and  authorized  by  the 
priests,  and  turn  it  against  us  in  derision,  and  take  advantage 
of  it  for  tlie  scandal  of  their  life.  Thus,  tliey  say  that  every 
year,  in  the  calends  of  January,  they  have  seen,  at  Rome, 
both  day  and  night,  near  the  church,  dancers  overrunning  tlie 
public  places,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  pagans,  and 
raising  clamors,  after  their  fashion,  and  singing  sacrilegious 
songs  ;  and  this  day,  they  say,  and  till  night-time,  tlie  tables 
are  loaded  with  meats,  and  no  one  will  lend  to  his  neighbor 
either  fire  or  iron,  or  anything  in  his  house.  They  say  also, 
that  they  have  seen  women  carry  phylacteries,  and  fillets 
attached  to  their  legs  and  arms,  and  ofler  all  sorts  of  things 
for  sale  to  the  passers  by  ;  and  all  these  things  seen  by  carnal 
men,  and  those  but  little  instructed,  are  subjects  of  derision, 
and  an  obstacle  to  our  preaching,  and  to  the  faith.  ...  If 
your  paternity  interdict  these  pagan  customs  in  Rome,  it  will 
acquire  a  great  reputation,  and  will  assure  us  a  great  progress 
in  the  doctrine  of  the  church.'" 

I  might  cite  many  other  letters,  written  with  as  much 
freedom,  and  which  prove  the  same  sincerity.  But  a  fact 
speaks  louder  than  all  the  letters  in  the  world.  After  having 
founded  new  bishoprics  and  many  monasteries,  at  the  highest 
point  of  his  success  and  glory,  in  7.53,  that  is  at  seventy- 
three  years  of  age,  the  Saxon  missionary  demanded  and 
obtained  authority  to  quit  his  bishopric  of  Mayence,  and  to 
place  therein  his  favorite  disciple  LuUus,  and  to  again  prose- 
cute the  works  of  his  youth  among  the  still  pagan  Prisons. 
lie  in  fact  went  amid  woods,  morasses,  and  barbarians,  and 
was  massacred  in  7.55,  with  many  of  his  companions. 

At  his  death,  the  bringing  over  of  Germany  to  Christianity 
»vas  accomplished,  and  accomplished  to  the  profit  of  papacy. 
But  it  was  also  to  the  profit  of  the  Franks  of  Austrasia,  to 
the  good  of  their  safety  and  their  power.  It  follows  that  it 
was  for  them  as  much  p.s  for  Rome,  that  Boniface  had  labored  ; 
it  was  upon  the  soil  of  Germany,  in  the  enterprise  of  con- 
verting its  tribes  by  Saxon  missionaries,  that  the  two  new 
Dowers,  which  were  to  prevail,  the  one  in  the  civil  society. 


'  8.  Bonif.  Ep.  ad  Zacharium,  ep    132 ;  Bib.  Pat.,  vol.   xiii ,  p 
J20,  ed.  of  Lyony 


y»4  HISTOBV    OF 

ihe  othei  hi  the  religious  society,  encountered  each  other,  the 
mayors  of  the  palace  of  Austrasia,  and  the  popes.  In  ordei 
to  consummate  their  alliance,  and  to  make  it  bear  all  lis 
fruits,  an  occasion  was  only  wanting  on  either  side ;  ii  waa 
not  long  in  presenting  itself. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  the  situation  of  the  bishop  of 
Rome  with  regard  to  the  Lombards,  and  of  their  incessanl 
eiTorts  to  invade  a  territory,  which  daily  became  more  posi. 
lively  his  domain.  Anotlier  real,  although  less  pressing  dan- 
ger, also  approached  him.  As  the  Franks  of  Austrasia,  with 
the  Pepins  at  their  head,  had  on  the  north  to  combat  the  Pri- 
sons and  the  Saxons,  and  on  the  south  the  Saracens,  so  the 
popes  were  pressed  by  the  Saracens  and  tlie  Lombards.  Their 
situation  was  analogous ;  but  the  Franks  achieved  victory 
under  Charles  Martel  ;  the  papacy,  not  in  a  condition  to  de- 
fend herself,  everywhere  souglit  soldiers.  She  tried  to  obtain 
them  from  the  emperor  of  the  east ;  he  had  none  to  send  her. 
In  739,  Gregory  III.  had  recourse  to  Charles  Martel.  Boni- 
face took  charge  of  the  negotiation  ;  it  was  witiiout  result : 
Charles  Martel  had  too  much  to  do  on  his  own  account ;  he 
cared  not  to  involve  himself  in  a  new  war  ;  but  the  idea  waa 
established  at  Rome  that  the  Franks  alone  could  defend  the 
church  against  the  Lombards,  and  that  sooner  or  later  they 
would  cross  the  Alps  for  her  good. 

Some  years  after,  the  chief  of  Austrasia,  Pepin,  son  of 
Charles  Martel,  in  his  turn,  had  need  of  the  pope.  He 
wished  to  get  himself  declared  king  of  the  Franks,  and,  how- 
ever well  his  power  might  be  established,  he  wanted  a  sanc- 
tion to  it.  I  have  many  times  remarked,  and  am  not  tired  of 
repeating  it,  that  power  does  not  suffice  to  itself;  it  wants 
something  more  than  success,  it  wants  to  be  convened  into 
right ;  it  demands  that  characteristic,  sometimes  of  the  free 
assent  of  men,  sometimes  of  religious  consecration.  Pepin 
invoked  both.  More  than  one  ecclesiastic,  perliaps  Boniface, 
suggested  to  him  the  idea  of  getting  his  new  title  of  king  of 
the  Franks  sanctioned  by  the  papacy.  I  shall  not  enter  into 
the  details  of  the  negotiation  undertaken  upon  this  subject ;  it 
oflers  some  rather  embarrassing  questions  and  chronological 
difficulties  :  it  is  not  the  less  certain  that  it  took  place,  and 
that  Boniface  conducted  it,  as  his  letters  to  the  pope  often 
show  ;  we  see  him,  among  others,  charge  his  disciple  Lullus 
to  inform  the  pope  of  certain  important  affairs  which  he  would 
other  not  commit  to  vriting.     Lastly,  in  751, 


CIVIMZATIO^      N    FRANCE.  805 

Euioijurd,  bishop  of  Wurtzburg,  and  Fulrad,  a  cbapluin 
)-iicsi,  were  sent  to  Rome  to  pope  Zachary,  in  order  to  con- 
sult the  pontifF  touching  the  kings  who  were  tlien  in  France, 
and  wno  had  merely  tlie  name  without  any  power.  The  pope 
answered  by  a  messenger,  that  he  thoug!:t  tiiat  he  who  alread} 
possessed  the  power  of  the  king,  was  the  king  ;  and  giving 
liis  full  assent,  he  enjoined  that  Pepin  sliould  be  made  king. 
....  Pepin  was  then  proclaimed  king  of  the  Franks,  and 
anointed  for  this  high  dignity  with  the  sacred  unction  by  the 
holy  hand  of  Boniface,  archbishop  and  martyr  of  happy 
memory,  and  raised  upon  the  throne,  according  to  custom  of 
he  Franks,  in  the  town  of  Soissons.  With  regard  to  Childe. 
•ic,  who  invested  himself  with  the  false  name  of  king,  Pej)in 
Tad  him  shaved  and  put  in  a  monastery,'" 

Such  was  the  progressive  march  of  the  revolution  ;  such 
were  the  indirect  and  true  causes  of  it.  It  has  been  repre- 
sented in  later  times'  (and  I  myself  have  contributed  to  pro- 
pagate this  idea')  as  a  new  German  invasion,  as  a  recent  con- 
quest of  Gaul  by  the  Franks  of  Austrasia,  more  barbarians, 
more  Germans,  than  Franks  of  Neustria,  who  had  gradually 
amalgamated  with  the  Romans.  Such  was  in  fact  the  result, 
and,  so  to  speak,  the  external  character  of  the  event ;  but  its 
character  does  not  suffice  to  explain  it  ;  it  had  far  more  dis- 
tant and  more  profound  causes  than  the  continuation  or  re- 
newal of  the  great  German  invasion.  I  have  just  placed 
them  before  you.  The  civil  Gallo-Frankish  society  was  in  a 
complete  dissolution  ;  no  system,  no  power  had  come  to 
establish  itself  in  it,  and  to  found  it  in  ruling  it.  The  reli- 
gious  society  had  fallen  almost  into  the  same  state.  Two 
principles  of  regeneration  were  gradually  developed  ;  the 
mayor  of  the  palace  among  the  Franks  of  Austrasia  ;  and 
the  papacy  at  Romij.  These  new  powers  were  naturally 
drawn  together  by  the  mediation  of  the  conversion  of  the 
German  tribes,  in  which  they  had  a  common  interest.  The 
missionaries,  and  especially  the  Anglo-Saxon  missionariesL 
were  the  agents  of  this  junction.  Two  parti-cular  circum- 
stances, the   perils  in  which   the  Lombards  involved  the  pa. 


'  Annates  d'Eginhard,  vol.  iii  ,  p.  4,  in  my  Collection  des  Mimoirrt 
relatifs  ci  VHistoire  de  France. 
•  Histoire  des  Francois,  by  M.  de  Sismondi,  vol.  ii.,  p    16S — 171. 
'  See  my  Efsais  sur  FHistoire  de  France,  third  Essai,  pp   G7  -83 


396  HISTORY    OF 

pacy,  and  the  need  which  Pepin  had  of  the  pope  in  order  ic 
get  his  title  of  iiing  sanctioned,  made  it  a  close  alliance.  It 
raised  up  a  new  race  of  sovereigns  in  Gaul,  destroyed  the 
kingdom  of  the  Lombards  in  Italy,  and  impelled  civil  and 
religious  Gallo-Frankish  society  in  a  route  which  tended  to 
make  royalty  prevail  in  the  civil  order,  and  papacy  in  the 
reliffious  order.  Such  will  appear  to  you  the  character  of  the 
attempts  at  civilization  made  in  France  by  the  Carlovingians, 
that  is  to  say,  by  Charlemagne,  the  true  representative  of  that 
new  direction,  although  it  failed  in  its  designs,  and  did  no- 
thing but  throw,  as  ,it  were,  a  bridge  between  barbarism  and 
feudalism.  This  second  epoch,  the  history  of  civilization  in 
France  under  the  Carlovingians,  in  its  various  phases,  will  lo 
the  subject  of  the  following  lectures. 


CIVILIZATION    iN    FRANCR.  807 


TWENTIETH  LECTURE. 

R/iign  of  Charlcmrigne — Greatness  of  his  name — Is  it  true  that  he  set- 
Jed  nothing?  that  all  tiiat  he  did  has  perished  with  him  ? — Of  the 
action  of  great  men — They  play  a  double  part — That  which  they  do, 
in  virtue  of  the  first,  is  duraole  ;  that  which  they  attempt,  under  the 
second,  passes  away  with  them — Example  of  Na|)oleon — Necessity 
of  being  thoroughly  ac(iuairited  with  the  history  of  events  under 
Charlemagne,  in  order  to  understand  that  of  civilizs  Jon — How  the 
events  may  be  recapitulated  in  tables — 1.  Charlemagne  as  a  warrior 
and  conqueror  ;  Table  of  his  principal  expeditions — Their  meaning 
and  results — 2.  Charlemagne  as  an  administrator  and  legislator — Of 
the  government  of  the  provinces — Of  the  central  government — Ta- 
ble of  national  assemblies  under  his  reign — Table  of  his  capitularies 
— Table  of  the  acts  and  documents  which  remain  of  this  epoch — 3. 
Charlemagne  as  a  protector  of  intellectual  development:  Table  of 
the  celebrated  cotemporaneous  men — Estimation  of  the  general  rs' 
suits,  and  of  the  character  of  his  reign. 

We  enter  into  a  second  great  epoch  of  the  history  of  French 
civilization,  and  as  we  enter,  at  the  first  step,  we  encounter  a 
great  man.  Charlemagne  was  neither  the  first  of  his  race, 
nor  the  author  of  its  elevation.  He  received  an  already  es- 
tablished  power  from  his  father  Pepin.  I  have  attempted  to 
make  you  understand  the  causes  of  this  revolution  and  its 
true  character.  When  Charlemagne  became  king  of  the 
Franks,  it  was  accomplished  ;  he  had  no  need  even  to  defend 
it.  He,  however,  has  given  his  name  to  the  second  dynasty ; 
and  the  instant  one  speaks  of  it,  the  instant  one  thinks  of  it,  it 
is  Charlemagne  who  presents  himself  before  the  mind  as  its 
founder  and  chief.  Glorious  privilege  of  a  great  man  !  No 
one  disputes  that  Charlemagne  had  a  right  to  give  name  to 
his  race  and  age.  The  homage  paid  to  him  is  often  blind 
and  undistinguishing ;  his  genius  and  glory  are  extolled  with- 
out discrimination  or  measure ;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  persons 
repeat,  one  after  another,  that  he  founded  nothing,  accom. 
plished  nothing  ;  that  his  empire,  his  laws,  all  his  works, 
perished  with  him.  And  this  historical  common-place  intro- 
duces a  crowd  of  moral  common-places  on  the  ineffectualnesa 
and  uselessness  of  great  men,  the  vanity  of  their  projects,  the 
.ittle  trace  which  they  leave  in  the  world,  after  having  trou- 
bled it  in  all  directions. 


898  HISTORY    OF 

Is  this  true  ?  Is  it  the  destiny  of  great  men  to  be  merely  a 
burden  and  a  useless  wonder  to  mankind  ?  Their  activity  so 
strong,  so  brilliant,  can  it  have  no  lasting  result  ?  It  costa 
very  deal  -o  be  present  at  the  spectacle  ;  the  curtain  fallen, 
will  nothing  of  it  remain  ?  Should  we  regard  these  powerful 
and  glorious  chiefs  of  a  century  and  a  people,  merely  as  a 
sterile  scourge,  or  at  very  best,  as  a  burdensome  luxury  ? 
Charlemagne,  in  particular,  should  he  be  nothing  more  ? 

At  the  first  glance,  the  common-place  might  be  supposed  to 
be  a  truth.  The  victories,  conquests,  institutions,  reforms, 
projects,  all  the  greatness  and  glory  of  Charlemagne,  vanished 
with  him  ',  he  seemed  a  meteor  suddenly  emerging  from  the 
darkness  of  barbarism,  to  be  as  suddenly  lost  and  extin- 
guished in  that  of  feudality.  There  are  other  such  example.«« 
in  history.  The  world  has  more  than  once  seen,  we  our 
selves  have  seen  an  empire  like  it,  one  which  took  pleasure 
in  being  compared  to  that  of  Charlemagne,  and  had  a  right  so 
to  be  compared  ;  we  have  likewise  seen  it  fall  away  with  a 
man. 

But  we  must  beware  of  trusting  these  appearances.  To 
understand  the  meaning  of  great  events,  and  measure  the 
agency  and  influence  of  great  men,  we  need  to  look  far  deeper 
into  the  matter. 

The  activity  of  a  great  man  is  of  two  kinds  j  he  performs 
two  parts ;  two  epochs  may  generally  be  distinguished  in  his 
career.  First,  he  understands  better  than  other  people  the 
wants  of  his  time  ;  its  real,  present  exigencies ;  what,  in  the 
age  he  lives  in,  society  needs,  to  enable  it  to  subsist  and  attain 
its  natural  developnient.  He  understands  these  wants  better 
than  any  )ther  person  of  his  time,  and  knows  better  than  any 
other  how  to  wield  the  powers  of  society,  and  direct  them 
skilfully  towards  the  realization  of  this  end.  Hence  proceed 
his  power  and  glory  j  it  is  in  virtue  of  this,  that  as  soon  as  he 
appears,  he  is  understood,  accepted,  followed  ;  that  all  give 
their  willing  aid  to  the  work  which  he  is  pci  forming  for  the 
oenefit  of  all. 

But  he  does  not  stop  here.  When  the  real  wants  of  his 
time  are  in  some  degree  satisfied,  the  ideas  and  the  will  of  the 
great  man  proceed  further.  He  quits  the  region  of  present 
facts  and  exigencies;  he  gives  himself  up  to  views  in  some 
measure  personal  to  himself;  he  indulges  in  combinations 
more  or  less  vast  and  spacious,  but  which  are  not,  like  hia 
orevious  labors,  founded  on  the  actual  state,  the  commoii  m 


CIVIUZATION    IN    FRANCE.  890 

Btincts,  the  determined  wishes  of  society,  but  ara  remote  and 
arbitrary.  He  aspires  to  extend  his  activity  and  influence 
indefinitely,  and  to  possess  the  future  as  he  has  possessed  the 
present.  Here  egoism  and  illusion  commence.  For  some 
time,  on  the  faith  of  what  he  has  already  done,  the  great  man 
is  followed  in  his  new  career  ;  he  is  believed  in  and  obej'-^jd; 
men  lend  themselves  to  his  fancies;  his  flatterers  and  b's 
dupes  even  admire  and  vaunt  them  as  his  sublimcst  conccp. 
tions.  The  public,  however,  in  whom  a  mere  delusion  is 
never  of  any  long  continuance,  soon  discovers  that  it  is  im- 
pelled  in  a  direction  in  which  it  has  no  desire  to  move  At 
first  the  great  man  had  enlisted  his  high  intelligence  and  pow- 
erful  will  in  the  service  of  the  general  feeling  and  wish  ;  he 
now  seeks  to  employ  the  public  force  in  the  service  of  rus  in- 
dividual ideas  and  desires  ;  he  is  attempting  things  which  he 
alone  wishes  or  understands.  Hence  disquietude  first,  and 
then  uneasiness  ;  for  a  time  he  is  still  followed,  but  sluggishly 
and  reluctantly;  next  he  is  censured  and  complained  of; 
finally,  he  is  abandoned  and  falls;  and  all  which  he  alone  had 
planned  and  desired,  all  the  merely  personal  and  arbitrary 
part  of  his  work,  perishes  with  him. 

I  shall  avoid  no  opportunity  of  borrowing  from  our  age  the 
torch  which  it  offers,  in  this  instance,  in  order  to  enlighten  a 
time  so  distant  and  obscure.  The  fate  and  name  of  Napoleon 
at  present  belong  to  history.  I  shall  not  feel  the  least  embar- 
rassed in  speaking  of  it,  and  speaking  of  it  freely. 

Every  one  knows  that  at  the  time  when  he  seized  the 
power  in  France,  the  dominant,  imperious  want  of  our  coun- 
try was  security — without,  national  independence  ;  inwardly, 
civil  life.  In  the  revolutionary  troubles,  the  external  and 
internal  destiny,  the  state  and  society,  were  equally  compro- 
mised. To  replace  the  new  France  in  the  European  confede- 
ration, to  make  her  avowed  and  accej)ted  by  the  other  states, 
and  to  constitute  her  within  in  a  peaceable  and  regular  man- 
ner,— to  put  her,  in  a  word,  into  the  possession  of  indepen- 
dence  and  order,  the  only  pledges  of  a  long  future,  this  wag 
(he  desire,  the  general  thought  of  the  country.  Napoleor 
understood  and  accomplished  it. 

This  finished,  or  nearly  so.  Napoleon  proposed  to  himself  a 
thousand  others :  potent  in  combinations,   and  of  an  ardent 
imagination,  egoistical  and  thoughtful,  machinator  and  poet, 
ne,  as  it  were,  poured  out  his  activity  in  arbitrary  and  gigan 
Uc  j»rojects,  children  of  his  own, — solitary   foreign  to  the  rca/ 


400  HISTORY    OF 

wants  of  our  time,  and  of  our  France.  She  followed  hiiv 
for  some  time,  and  at  great  cost,  in  this  path  which  she  had 
not  selected  ;  a  day  came  when  she  would  follow  no  further, 
and  the  emperor  found  himself  alone,  and  the  empire  vanished, 
and  all  things  returned  to  their  proper  condition,  to  their  na. 
tural  tendency. 

It  is  an  analogous  fact  which  the  reign  of  Charlemagne 
offers  us  at  the  ninth  century.  Despite  the  immense  differ- 
ence of  time,  situation,  form,  even  groundwork,  the  general 
phenomenon  is  similar:  these  two  parts  of  a  great  man,  theso 
two  epochs  of  his  career,  are  found  in  Charlemagne  as  in  Na- 
poleon.    Let  us  endeavor  to  state  them. 

Here  I  encounter  a  difficulty  which  has  long  pre-occupied 
me,  and  which  I  do  not  hope  to  have  completely  sun  lounted. 
At  the  commencement  of  the  course,  I  engaged  to  read  you  a 
general  history  of  France.  I  have  not  recounted  events  to 
you  ;  I  have  sought  only  general  results,  the  concatenation  of 
causes  and  effects,  the  progress  of  civilization,  concealed  un- 
der  tiie  external  scenes  of  history ;  as  regards  the  scenes 
themselves,  I  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  you  know  them. 
Hitherto  I  have  cared  little  to  know  if  you  had  taken  this  pre- 
caution J  under  the  Merovingian  race,  events,  properly  so 
called,  are  of  rare  occurrence — so  monotonous,  that  it  is  less 
necessary  to  regard  them  nearly :  general  facts  only  are  im- 
portant, and  they  may,  up  to  a  certain  point,  be  brought  to 
light  and  understood  without  an  exact  knowledge  of  the  de- 
tails. Under  the  reign  of  Charlemagne,  it  is  entirely  differ- 
ent :  wars,  political  vicissitudes  of  all  kinds,  are  numerous 
and  brilliant ;  they  occupy  an  important  place,  and  genera) 
facts  are  concealed  far  behind  the  special  facts  which  occupy 
the  front  of  the  scene.  History,  properly  so  called,  envelopes 
and  covers  the  history  of  civilization.  The  latter  will  not 
be  clear  to  you  unless  the  former  is  presented  to  you  ;  I  can- 
not give  you  an  account  of  events,  and  yet  you  require  to 
know  them. 

I  have  attempted  to  sum  them  up  in  tables,  to  present  under 
that  form  the  special  facts  of  tiiis  epoch  ;  those,  at  least,  wliich 
approach  nearly  to  general  facts,  and  immediately  concern 
the  history  of  civilization.  Statistical  tables  are  looked  upon 
in  the  present  day,  and  with  good  reason,  as  one  of  the  best 
means  of  studying  the  state  of  a  society,  under  certain  reia- 
tions  ;  why  should  not  the  same  method  be  applied  to  the  past  1 
H  does  not  produce  them  with  vividness  and  animation,  like 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


401 


recital ,  but  it  raises  their  frame-work,  so  to  speak,  and  pre. 
/ents  general  ideas  from  floating  in  vagueness  and  at  chance. 
Fn  proportion  as  we  advance  in  the  course  of  civilization,  we 
shall  often  be  obliged  to  employ  it. 

Three  essential  characteristics  appear  in  Charlemagne  :  he 
may  be  considered  under  three  principal  points  of  view :  1st, 
as  a  warrior  and  a  conqueror  ;  2d,  as  an  administrator  ana 
legislator  ;  3d,  as  a  protector  of  sciences,  letters,  arts,  of  in- 
tellectual development  in  general.  He  exercised  a  great 
power,  outwardly  by  force,  inwardly  by  government  and 
laws ;  he  desired  to  act,  and  in  fact  did  act,  upon  mankind  it- 
self, upon  the  human  mind  as  upon  society.  I  shall  endeavor 
to  make  you  understand  him  in  these  three  respects,  by  pre- 
senting to  you,  in  tables,  the  facts  which  relate  to  him,  and 
from  which  the  history  of  civilization  may  be  deduced. 

I  commence  with  the  wars  of  Charlemagne,  of  which  the 
following  are  the  most  essential  facts  : 

Table  of  the  principal  Expeditions  of  Charlemagne. 


1 

Date. 

Enemies. 

Observations. 

7G9 

Against  the  Aquitani. 

He  goes  to  the  Dordogne. 

2 

772 

«* 

the  Saxons. 

He  goes  beyond  the  Weser. 

3 

773 

<( 

the  Lombards. 

He  goes  to  Pavia  and  Verona. 

4 

774 

" 

Idem 

He  takes  Pavia,  and  goes  to 
Rome. 

5 

774 

C( 

the  Saxons. 

6 

775 

c< 

Idem. 

7 

776 

<< 

the  Lombards. 

He  goes  to  Treviso. 

1     8 

776 

« 

the  Saxons. 

He  goes  to  the  sources  of  the 
Lippe. 

9 

778 

CI 

the  Arabs  of  Spain. 

He  goes  to  Saragossa. 

10 

778 

<l 

the  Saxons. 

11 

779 

« 

Idem. 

He  goes  to  the  country  of 
Osnabruck. 

12 

780 

<c 

Idem. 

He  goes  to  the  Elbe. 

1  13 

7S3 

C( 

Idem. 

He  goes  to  the  conflux  of  the 
Weser  and  the  Alter. 

14 

783 

l< 

Idem. 

He  goes  to  the  Elbe. 

15 

784 

<( 

Idem. 

He  goes  to  the  Sale  and  the 
Elbe. 

16 

795 

« 

Idem. 

He  goes  to  the  Elbe. 

17 

785 

C( 

theThuringians. 

He  does  not  go  in  person. 

18 

786 

« 

the  Bretons 

Idem. 

19 

7S7 

« 

the    Lombards  of 
Benevento. 

He  goes  to  Capua. 

») 

787 

l< 

the  Bavarians 

He  goes  to  Augsburg 

(02 

HIiTORY 

OF 

21 

Date. 

E7iemie3. 

Observations. 

788 

Against  the  Huns  or  Avares 

He  goes  to  Ratisbon.                  i 

22 

7S9 

"      the  Slavonian  Wilt- 

He  goes  between  the  Lower  1 

zes. 

Elbe  and  the  Oder. 

23 

791 

"      the       Huns        or 

He  goes  to  the  conflux  of  th*> 

Avares. 

Danube  and  the  Raab. 

24 

794 

"      the  Saxons 

25 

795 

Idem. 

26 

796 

Idem. 

27 

790 

'*      the  Huns  or  Avares 

Under  the  orders  of  his  son 
Louis,  king  of  Italy 

28 

796 

'«      the  Arabs. 

Under  the  orders  of  his  son 
Pepin,  king  of  Aquitaine. 

29 

797 

"      the  Saxons. 

He  goes  to  the  Lower  Weser 
and  the  Lower  Elbe. 

30 

797 

"      the  Arabs. 

By  his  son  Louis. 

31 

798 

"      the  Saxons. 

He  goes  beyond  the  Elbe. 

32 

801 

"      the   Lombards   of 
Benevento. 

By  his  son  Pepin  to  Chieti. 

33 

801 

"      the  Arabs  of  Spain. 

By  his  son  Louis  to  Barcelcna. 

31 

802 

««      the  Saxons. 

By  his  sons  beyond  the  Ell)e. 

35 

804 

Idem. 

He  goes  between  the  Elbe  and 
the  Oder.  He  transplants 
tribes  of  Saxons  into  Gaul 
and  Italy. 

36 

505 

"      the  Slavonians  of 
Bohemia. 

By  his  eldest  son  Charles 

37 

806 

Idem. 

By  his  son  Charles. 

38 

806 

"      the    Saracens    of 
Corsica. 

By  his  son  Pepin. 

39 

806 

*'      the  Arabs  of  Spain. 

By  his  son  Louis 

40 

807 

"       the     Saracens     of 
Corsica. 

By  Generals. 

41 

807 

'•      the  Arabs  of  Spain. 

Idem. 

42 

808 

"      the      Danes     and 
Normans. 

43 

809 

"      the  Greeks. 

In  Dalmatia,by  his  son  Pepin. 

44 

f.09 

««      the  Arabs  of  Spain. 

45 

810 

"      the  Greeks. 

Idem. 

46 

810 

"      the     Saracens     in 
Corsica      and 
Sardinia. 

47 

810 

"      the  Danes. 

He  goes  in  person  to  the  conflux 
of  the  Weser  and  the  Aller 

48 

811 

Idem. 

il 

811 

"      the  Avares. 

811 

*'      the  Bretons. 

51 

812 

'«     the  Slavonian  Wi!t- 

Ho  goes  between  the  Ellw  bin! 

zes. 

the  Oder. 

52 

812 

"      the    Saracens    in 
Corsica. 

M 

813 

Idem. 

CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


4(1  a 


Tliat  ia,  in  all,  fifty-three  expeditions,  namely. 
1  against  the  Aquitani. 
18         —         Saxons. 
5  —  Lombards. 

7         —         Arabs  of  Spain. 

1  —         Thuringians. 
4         —         Avares. 

2  —  Bretons. 

1  —  Bavarians. 

4  —         Slavonians  beyond  the  Elbe. 

5  —         Saracens  in  Italy. 

2  —         Danes. 
2         —         GreeKS. 

Wit  lout  counting  numerous  other  small  expeditions,  of  which 
no  distinct  and  positive  monuments  are  left. 

From  this  table  alone  it  is  clearly  seen  that  these  wars  did 
not  the  least  resemble  those  of  the  first  race  ;  they  are  not  the 
dissensions  of  tribe  against  tribe,  of  chief  against  chief;  ex- 
peditions undertaken  with  a  view  of  establishment  or  piHage ; 
they  are  systematic  and  political  wars,  inspired  by  an  inten- 
tion of  government,  commanded  by  a  certain  necessity. 

What  is  this  system  ?     What  is  the  meaning  of  these  expe- 

ditions  ?  r,    u     d 

You  have  seen  various  German  nations — Goths,  Burgun- 
dians,  Franks,  Lombards,  &c.— established  upon  the  Roman 
territory.  Of  all  these  tribes  or  confederations,  the  Franks 
were  the  strongest,  and  occupied  the  central  position  in  the 
new  establishment.  They  were  not  united  among  themselves 
by  any  political  tie;  they  incessantly  make  war.  Still,  in 
some  respects,  and  whether  they  knew  it  or  not,  their  situation 
was  similar,  and  their  interests  common. 

You  have  seen  that,  from  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  cen- 
tury, these  new  masters  of  western  Europe,  the  Roman-Ger- 
mans,  were  pressed  on  the  north-east,  along  the  Rhine  and 
the  Danube,  by  new  German,  Slavonian,  and  other  tribes  pro 
ceeding  to  the  same  territory;  on  the  south  by  the  Arabs 
spread  on  all  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean  ;  and  that  th^s 
a  two-fold  movement  of  invasion  menaced  with  an  approach, 
ing  fall  the  states  but  just  rising  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  Roman 
empire. 

Now  let  us  see  what  was  the  work  of  Charlemagne  in  this 
situation  ;  he  ralRed  against  this  two-fold  invasion,  against  the 
'Jew  assailants  who  crowded   upon  the  various  frontiers  of  the 
46 


104  HISTORY   OF 

empire,  all  tne  recently-established  inhabitants  o^  his  tem 
lory,  ancient  or  modern,  Romans  or  Germans.  Follow  the 
course  of  his  wars,  lie  begins  by  definitively  subduing,  on 
one  side,  the  Roman  population,  vvlio  still  attempted  to  free 
themselves  from  the  barbarian  yoke,  as  the  Aquitani  in  the 
south  of  Gaul  j  on  the  other,  the  later-arrived  German  popu- 
lation, the  establishment  of  whom  was  not  consummated,  as 
the  Lombards  in  Ilaly,  &c.  He  snatched  them  from  the  vari- 
ous impulsions  which  animated  them,  united  them  all  under 
the  domination  of  the  Franks,  and  turned  them  against  the 
two- fold  invasion,  which,  on  the  north-east  and  south,  menaced 
all  alike.  Seek  a  dominant  fact  which  shall  be  common  to 
all  the  wars  of  Charlemagne ;  reduce  them  all  to  theii  simple 
expression ;  you  will  see  that  their  true  meaning  is,  that  they 
are  the  struggle  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  ancient  empire,  con- 
quering or  conquered,  Romans  or  Germans,  against  the  new 
invaders. 

They  are,  therefore,  essentially  defensive  wars,  brought 
about  by  a  triple  interest  of  territory,  race,  and  religion.  It 
was  the  interest  of  territory  which  especially  broke  out  against 
the  nations  of  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine,  ibr  the  Saxons  and 
Danes  were  Germans,  like  the  Franks  and  the  Lombards: 
there  were  Frankish  tribes  among  them,  and  some  learned 
men  think  that  many  pretended  Saxons  may  have  been  only 
Franks,  established  in  Germany.  Tliere  was,  therefore,  no 
diversity  of  race  j  it  was  merely  in  defence  of  the  territory 
that  war  took  place.  The  interest  of  territory  and  the  interest 
of  race  were  united  against  the  wandering  nations  beyond  the 
Elbe,  or  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  against  tlie  Slavonians 
and  the  Avares.  Against  the  Arabs  who  inundated  the  south 
of  Gaul,  there  was  interest  of  territory,  of  race,  and  of  reli- 
gion, all  together.  Thus  did  the  various  causes  of  war  vari- 
ously combine ;  but,  whatever  might  be  the  combinations,  it 
was  always  the  German  Christians  and  Romans,  who  de- 
fended their  nationality,  their  territory,  and  \heir  religion, 
against  nations  of  another  origin  or  creed,  who  sought  a  soil 
to  conquer.  All  their  wars  have  this  character — all  are  de- 
rived from  this  triple  necessity. 

Charlemagne  had  in  no  way  reduced  this  necessity  into  a 
general  idea  or  theory ;  but  he  understood  and  faced  it :  greai 
men  rarely  do  otherwise.  He  faced  it  by  conquest ;  dufeni-ivt 
war  took  the  offensive  form  ;  he  carried  the  struggle  into  th.! 
icnitory  of  nations  who  wished  to  invade  his  own  ;  he  labored 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  405 

o  reduce  the  foreign  races,  to  extirpate  the  hostile  creeds. 
Hence  arose  his  mode  of  governnnent,  and  the  foundation  of 
'lis  empire ;  offensive  war  and  conquest  required  this  vast  and 
formidable  unity. 

At  the  death  of  Charlemagne,  the  conquests  cease,  the  unity 
disappears,  the  empire  is  dismembered  and  falls  to  pieces;  but 
is  it  true  that  nothing  remained,  that  the  warlike  exploits  of 
Charlemagne  were  absolutely  Sterile,  that  he  achieved  nothing, 
founded  nothing  ?  There  is  but  one  way  to  resolve  this  ques- 
tion  ;  it  is,  to  ask  ourselves  if,  after  Charlemagne,  tlie  countries 
which  he  had  governed  found  themselves  in  the  same  situation 
as  before ;  if  the  two-fold  invasions  which,  on  the  north  and 
on  the  south,  menaced  their  territory,  their  religion,  and  ,heir 
race,  recommenced  after  being  thus  suspended  ;  if  the  Saxons, 
Slavonians,  Avares,  Arabs,  still  kept  the  possessors  of  the 
Roman  soil  in  perpetual  disturbance  and  anxiety.  Evidently 
it  was  not  so;  true,  the  empire  of  Charlemagne  was  broken 
up,  but  into  separate  states,  which  arose  as  so  many  barriers 
at  all  points  where  there  was  still  danger.  Up  to  the  time  of 
Charlemagne^  the  frontiers  of  Germany,  Spain,  and  Italy  were 
in  continual  fluctuation  ;  no  constituted  public  force  had  at- 
tained a  permanent  shape ;  he  was  compelled  to  be  constantly 
transporting  himself  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  his  dominions, 
in  order  to  oppose  to  the  invaders  the  moveable  and  temporary 
force  of  his  armies.  After  him,  the  scene  is  changed  ;  real 
political  barriers,  states  more  or  less  organized,  but  real  and 
durable,  arose;  the  kingdoms  of  Lorraine,  of  Germany,  Italy, 
the  two  Burgundies,  Navarre,  date  from  that  tfme ;  and,  in 
spite  of  the  vicissitudes  of  their  destiny,  they  subsist,  and  suf- 
fice to  oppose  effectual  resistance  to  the  invading  movement. 
Accordingly,  that  movement  ceases,  or  continues  only  in  the 
form  of  maritime  expeditions,  most  desolating  at  the  points 
which  they  reach,  but  which  cannot  be  made  with  great  masses 
of  men,  nor  produce  great  results. 

Although,  therefore,  the  vast  domination  of  Charlemagne 
disappeared  with  him,  it  is  not  true  that  he  founded  nothing  ; 
he  founded  all  the  states  which  sprung  from  the  dismember, 
inent  of  his  empire.  His  conquests  entered  into  new  combi- 
nations, but  his  wars  attained  their  end  :  the  foundation  of  tiie 
work  subsisted,  although  its  form  was  changed.  It  is  thua 
that  the  action  of  great  men  is  in  general  exercised.  Charle- 
magne, as  an  administrator  and  legislator,  appears  to  us  undei 
.he  name  aspect. 


106  HISTORY    OF 

His  government  is  more  difficult  to  sum  up  than  nis  war* 
Much  has  been  said  of  the  order  which  he  introduced  into  hia 
states,  of  the  great  system  of  administration  which  he  attempted 
to  found  1  indeed  believe  he  attempted  it,  but  he  was  very  far 
from  succeeding  in  his  attempt :  despite  the  unity,  despite  tha 
activity  of  his  thought  and  of  his  power,  the  disorder  around 
him  was  immense  and  invincible  ;  he  repressed  it  for  a  moment 
on  one  point,  but  the  evil  reigned  wherever  his  terrible  will 
did  not  come ;  and  when  it  had  passed,  recommenced  the 
moment  it  was  at  a  distance.  We  must  not  allow  ourselves 
.0  be  deceived  by  words.  Open,  in  the  present  day,  the 
Almanac  Royal;  you  may  read  the  system  of  the  administra- 
tion of  France:  all  the  powers,  all  the  functionaries,  from  the 
last  step  to  the  most  elevated,  are  there  indicated  and  classed 
according  to  their  relations.  And  there  is  no  illusion — • 
the  things  pass,  in  fact,  as  they  are  written  ;  the  book  is 
a  faithful  image  of  the  reality.  It  would  be  easy  to  construct 
a  similar  administrative  chart  for  the  empire  of  Charlemagne, 
to  place  in  it  dukes,  counts,  vicars,  centeniers,  sheriffs 
yscaUni),  and  to  distribute  them,  hierarchically  organized, 
over  the  territory.  But  this  would  only  be  a  vast  fiction ; 
more  frequently,  in  most  places,  these  magistrates  were 
powerless,  or  themselves  disorderly.  The  effort  of  Charle- 
magne to  institute  them  and  to  make  them  act  was  continual, 
but  as  incessantly  failed.  Now  that  you  are  warned,  and  on 
your  guard  against  the  systematic  appearances  of  this  govern- 
ment, I  may  sketch  the  features — you  will  not  conclude  too 
much  from  them. 

The  local  government  must  be  distinguished  from  the  cen- 
tral  government. 

In  the  provinces,  the  power  of  the  emperor  was  exercised 
by  two  classes  of  agents — one  local  and  permanent,  the  otiiur 
sent  to  a  distance,  and  transitory. 

In  the  first  class  were  included — first,  dukes,  counts,  vicars 
of  courts,  centeniers,  scahini,  all  resident  magistrates  nominated 
by  the  emperor  himself  or  by  his  delegates,  and  charged  in  his 
name  to  raise  forces,  to  render  justice,  to  maintain  order,  to 
receive  tribute  ;  second,  beneficiaries,  or  vassals  of  the  king, 
who  held  from  him,  sometimes  hereditarily,  more  frequently 
for  life,  still  more  frequently  without  any  stipulation  or  rule, 
estates  or  domains,  throughout  the  extent  of  which  they  exer. 
cised,  mostly  in  their  own  name,  partly  in  that  of  tha  emperor, 
a  certain  jurisdiction,  and  almost  all  the  rights  of  sovereignty, 


CIVIMZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


407 


Notliing  was  well  determined  or  very  clear  with  regaia  to 
the  situation  of  beneficiaries,  and  the  nature  of  their  power ; 
they  were  at  once  delegates  and  independent,  proprietors  and 
usufructuaries  ;  and  one  or  other  of  these  characters  prevailed 
in  them  alternately.  Hut  however  that  may  be,  they  werC; 
without  doubt,  in  habitual  relation  with  Charlemagne,  who 
made  use  of  them  everywhere  in  order  to  convey  and  execute 
his  will. 

Above  the  local  and  resident  agents,  magistrates,  or  benefi- 
ciaries, were  the  viissi  dominici,  temporary  ambassadors, 
charged,  in  the  name  of  the  emperor,  to  inspect  the  provinces, 
authorized  to  penetrate  into  conceded  domains,  as  well  as  into 
free  lands,  invested  with  the  right  of  reforming  certain  abuses, 
and  called  upon  to  render  an  account  of  everything  to  their 
master.  The  missi  dotninici  were  for  Charlemagne,  at  least 
m  the  provinces,  the  principal  medium  of  order  and  adminis- 
tration. 

With  regard  to  the  central  government,  putting  aside  for  n 
moment  the  action  of  Charlemagne  himself,  and  of  his  per- 
rional  counsellors,  that  is  to  say,  with  regard  to  the  true  gov- 
ernment, the  national  assemblies,  to  judge  from  appearances, 
and  if  we  may  believe  almost  all  modern  historians,  occupied 
an  important  place.  They  were,  indeed,  frequent  and  active 
under  his  reign.  The  following  is  a  table  of  those  which  ar^^ 
expressly  mentioned  by  the  chroniclers  of  the  time  : 


1 

Date. 

Place. 

770 

Worms. 

2 

771 

Valenciennes. 

3 

772 

Worms. 

4 

773 

Geneva. 

5 

775 

Duren. 

6 

776 

Worms. 

7 

777 

Paderborn. 

8 

779 

Duren. 

9 

780 

Ehresburg. 

10 

781 

Worms.                                                         1 

11 

782 

At  the  source  of  the  Lippe. 

12 

785 

Paderborn 

13 

786 

Worms. 

It 

787 

Ibid. 

15 

788 

Ingelheim. 

16 

789 

Aix-la-Chapelle. 

17 

790 

Worms. 

18 

792 

—e 

Ratisbon.                                                     | 

108 


HISTORY    OF 


19 

Date. 

Place. 

793 

Ibid. 

20 

794 

Frankfort. 

21 

795 

KufTenstein. 

22 

797 

Aix-la-Chapelle.                                       » 

23 

799 

Lippeiiheiin. 

24 

800 

Mayence. 

25 

803 

Ibid. 

26 

804  ■ 

At  the  source  jf  the  Lippe. 

27 

805 

Thionville 

28 

800 

Nimeguen. 

29 

807 

Coblentz. 

30 

809 

Aix-la-Chapelle. 

31 

810 

Verden. 

32 

811 

Ibid. 

33 

812 

Boulogne. 

34 

812 

Aix-la-Chapelle. 

35 

813 

Ibid. 

To  know  the  number  and  periodical  regularity  of  these 
great  meetings,  doubtless,  is  something ;  but  what  passed 
within  their  breast,  and  what  was  the  character  of  their 
political  intervention  ?   this  is  an  important  point. 

A  very  curious  monument  remains  upon  this  subject ;  one 
of  the  cotemporaries  and  counsellors  of  Charlemagne,  his 
cousin-german,  Adalhard,  abbot  of  Corbie,  wrote  a  treatise 
entitled  De  Ordine  Palatii,  destined  to  make  known  tiie 
internal  government  of  Charlemagne,  and  more  especially  the 
general  assemblies.  This  treatise  is  lost ;  but,  towards  tlic 
end  of  the  ninth'  century,  Hincmar,  archbisiiop  of  Reims,  re- 
produced it  almost  complete  in  a  letter  of  instruction  written 
at  the  request  of  some  great  men  of  the  kingdom,  who  had  had 
recourse  to  his  counsel  for  the  government  of  Carloman,  one 
of  the  sons  of  Louis-le-Begue.  Certainly,  no  document  merits 
more  confidence.     Here  we  read — 

"  It  was  the  custom  of  the  time  to  hold  two  councils  every 

year in  both  of  them,  and  in  order  that  they  might  not 

appear   convoked    without    motive,*^    they    submitted    to    the 


•  In  882. 

*  JSTe  quasi  sine  causa  convocari  videre7itur.  Tliis  phrase  indicates 
that  most  of  the  members  of  those  assemblies  looked  upon  the 
obligation  of  repairing  thither  as  a  burden  ;  that  they  iiad  but  little 
desire  to  share  in  the  legislative  power,  and  that  Cliarlemagne  wished 
to  legitimate  their  convocation  by  giving  them  something  to  do, 
t;4r  lather  than  that  he  subjected  himself  to  the  necessity  of  obtaining 
thoir  oilhesion.  ^ 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  409 

exaininafion  and  deliberation  of  the  nobles  ....  and,  in  vittuf 
of  the  orders  of  the  king,  the  articles  of  the  law  named  capi- 
tu/a,  which  the  king  himself  had  drawn  up  by  the  inspiration 
of  God,  or  the  necessity  of  which  had  been  made  manifest  tr 
him  in  the  interval  between  the  meetings." 

The  proposition  of  the  capitularies,  or,  to  speak  in  modern 
phraseology,  the  ir)itiative,  therefore,  emanated  from  tlic 
emperor.  It  must  have  been  so :  the  initiative  is  naturally 
•exercised  by  him  who  wishes  to  regulate,  to  reform,  and  ii 
was  Charlemagne  who  had  conceived  this  design.  Still  I 
do  not  doubt  any  the  more  that  the  members  of  assembly 
might  have  made  any  propositions  which  appeared  desirable 
to  them  ;  the  constitutional  mistrusts  and  artifices  of  our  times 
were,  certainly,  unknown  to  Charlemagne,  too  sure  of  hi.'* 
power  to  fear  the  liberty  of  deliberations,  and  who  saw  it 
these  assemblies  a  means  of  government  far  more  than  a 
barrier  to  his  authority.      I  resume  the  text  of  Hincmar  : 

"  After  having  received  these  communications,  they  deli- 
berated upon  them  one,  two,  three,  or  even  a  greater  number 
of  days,  according  to  the  im[)ortance  of  the  matter.  Messen- 
gers from  the  palace,  going  and  coming,  received  their  ques- 
tions and  reported  the  answers  ;  and  no  stranger  approached 
the  place  of  their  meeting,  until  the  result  of  their  delibera- 
tions had  been  put  before  the  eyes  of  the  great  prince,  who 
then,  with  the  wisdom  which  he  received  from  God,  adopted 
a  resolution  to  which  all  obeyed." 

The  definitive  resolution  always  depended  therefore  on 
Charlemagne  alone  ;  the  assembly  only  gave  him  information 
and  counsel.     Hincmar  continues  : 

"  The  things,  accordingly,  went  on  thus  for  one,  two,  or 
more  capitularies,  until,  with  the  aid  of  God,  all  the  necessities 
of  the  times  were  provided  for. 

"  While  his  affairs  were  treated  of  in  this  manner  out  of  the 
presence  of  the  king,  the  prince  himself,  amidst  the  multitude 
which  generally  came  to  the  general  councils,  was  occupied 
in  receiving  presents,  saluting  ttie  most  considerable  men, 
discoursing  with  those  whom  he  rarely  saw,  testifying 
an  affectionate  interest  in  the  more  aged,  making  merry 
with  the  younger;  and  doing  these  and  similar  things  alike 
for  ecclesiastics  as  for  seculars.  Still,  if  those  who  deli- 
t)erated  upon  matters  submitted  to  their  examination  manifested 
adesire  therefor,  the  king  repaired  to  them ;  remained  with  them 
as  long  as, they  wished  ;  and  they  reported  to  him  with  com. 


no  HISTORY    OF 

plete  familiarity  what  they  thought  of  everything,  and  wliul 
were  the  f  iendly  discussions  wliich  had  been  raised  among 
them.  I  must  not  forget  to  mention  that,  if  the  weather  was 
fine,  all  this  passed  in  the  open  air;  if  not,  in  distinct  build- 
ings, where  those  who  had  to  deliberate  upon  the  propositior.3 
of  the  kings  were  separated  from  the  multitude  of  persona 
who  came  to  the  assembly,  and  then  the  less  considerable 
men  could  not  enter.  The  places  destined  for  the  meeting  of 
the  lords  were  divided  into  two  parts,  so  that  the  bishops, 
abbots,  and  priests,  high  in  dignity,  could  be  united  without 
any  mixture  of  the  laity.  In  the  same  way  the  counts  and 
other  principal  men  of  the  state  were  separated,  in  the  morn- 
ing, from  the  rest  of  the  multitude,  until,  the  king  present  or 
absent,  they  were  all  met  together ;  and  the  above-mentioned 
lords,  the  priests  on  their  side,  and  the  laity  on  theirs, 
repaired  to  the  hall  assigned  to  them,  and  where  they 
had  honorably  prepared  their  seats.  When  the  lay  and 
ecclesiastical  lords  were  thus  separated  from  the  mulutude,  it 
remained  in  their  option  to  sit  together,  or  sepa.alely,  ac- 
cording to  the  affairs  of  which  they  had  to  treat — ecclesias- 
tical, secular,  or  both.  So  if  they  wished  any  oud  to  come, 
whether  to  demand  nourishment,  or  to  ask  a  question,  and 
again  to  dismiss  him,  after  having  received  what  they  wanted, 
they  could  do  so.  Thus  passed  the  examination  of  the  aft'airs 
which  the  king  proposed  to  their  deliberations. 

*'  The  second  occupation  of  the  king  was  to  demand  of  every 
one  what  he  had  to  report  to  him,  or  to  teach  him  concerning 
the  part  of  the  kingdom  whence  he  came.  Not  only  was  this 
permitted  to  every  one,  but  they  were  strictly  recommended 
to  inquire,  in  the  intervals  of  the  assemblies,  what  passed 
within  or  without  the  kingdom ;  and  that  they  should  seek  to 
know  this  from  foreigners  as  well  as  countrynien,  enemies  as 
well  as  friends,  sometimes  by  employing  envoys,  and  without 
taking  much  care  as  to  how  the  intelligence  was  acquired.  The 
king  wished  to  know  whether,  in  any  part,  any  corner  of  the 
kingdom,  the  people  murmured  and  were  agitated,  and  what 
was  the  cause  of  its  agitation,  and  whether  it  had  come  to  a 
disturbance  upon  which  it  was  necessary  that  a  general 
council  should  be  employed,  and  other  similar  details.  He 
ttlbo  wished  to  know  if  any  of  the  subdued  nations  thonglit  of 
revolting ;  if  any  of  those  who  had  revolted  seemed  disposed 
la  submit ;  if  those  who  were  still  independent  menaced  the 
kingdom    with    any   attack,   &c.     Upon    all    these    matters 


CIVILIZATION    IN    e  KANCE. 


•in 


A-herevoi"  a  disturbance  or  a  danger  became  maniCesl,  he 
principally  asked  wliat  were  its  motives  or  occasion.'" 

I  shall  have  no  need  of  long  reflections  in  order  to  make 
you  recognize  the  true  character  of  these  assemblies;  it  ig 
clearly  shown  in  the  picture  which  has  been  traced  by 
nincmar.  Charlemagne  alone  fills  it;  he  is  the  centre  and 
soul  of  all  things;  it  is  he  who  says  tliat  the  assemblies  shall 
meet,  that  they  shall  deliberate  ;  it  is  he  who  occupies  himself 
about  the  state  of  the  country,  who  proposes  and  sanctions 
laws ;  in  him  reside  the  will  and  impulsion ;  it  is  from  him 
that  all  emanated.  In  order  to  return  to  him.  There  was 
there  no  great  national  liberty,  no  true   public  activity  ;   but 

here  was  a  vast  means  of  government.'^ 
This  means  was  by  no  means  sterile.     Independently  of 

he  force  which  Charlemagne  drew  from  it  for  current  affairs, 
you  have  seen  that  it  was  there  that  the  capitularies  were 
generally  drawn  up  and  decreed.  In  our  next  lecture  I  shall 
occupy  you  more  especially  with  this  celebrated  legislation. 
I  desire  at  present  merely  to  give  you  an  idea  of  it. 

While  waiting  for  more  details,  here  is  a  table  o^  the  ca- 
pitularies of  Charlemagne,  with  their  number,  their  extent, 
and  their  object : 

Tabic  of  the  Capitularies  of  Charlemagne. 


c 

<n   O 

•— '  'JS 

O  ■-3 

Date. 

Place. 

0) 

>  J3 

U.^ 

o 

c3-2 

bn 

0)    fee 

h 

4) 

a  '" 

<; 

hJ 

h-i 

1 

769 
779 

788 

18 
23 

8 

1 

15 

7 

17 
8 
1 

9 

3 

Ratisbon 

4 

789 

Aix-la-Chapelle.. 

80 

19 

01 

5 

Id. 
Id. 
Id. 
793 

IG 
23 
34 
17 

14 
20 
15 

16 
9 

14 
2 

« 

7 

8 

9 

794 

Frankfort 

54 

18 

36 

10 

797 

Aix-la-Chapelle. . 

11 

11 

11 

799 

5 

5 

Ilincm.  J?;»/».  de  Oidine  Palatii,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  201 — 215. 
Sec  my  Essnis  stir  VHiitoire  de  France,  dd,  315 — 344. 


tI8  HISTORY    OF 

Tible  of  the  Capitularies  of  Charlemagne — continued. 


12 
13 
14 
15 

IG 
17 
18 
19 
20 
21 
22 
23 
24 
25 
26 
27 
28 
29 

30 
31 
32 
33 
34 
35 
36 
37 
33 
39 
40 
41 
42 
43 
44 
45 
46 
17 
48 
4d 


Date. 


Before. 

800 

800 

801 

Id. 

Id. 

802 

Id. 

803 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 
804 

Id. 
805 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 
806 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 

Id. 
807 
808 
809 

Id. 
810 

Id. 

Id. 
811 

Id. 

Id. 


Place. 


Aix-Ia-Chapelle 

Idem 

Idem 

Worms 

Seltz 

Idem 

Thionville 

Idem 

Idem 

Idem 

^imeguen 

Aix-la-Chapelle. . 

Idem 

Idem. 


70 

5 

8 

1 

22 

41 

23 

7 

1' 

1 

11 

29 

12 


13 

3 

8 
12 
16 
25 
10 

1 
20iJ 

8 

6 

8 
19 
23 

7 
30 
37 
,6 
18 
16 

5 
12 
13 

9 


>  J2 


27 
18 


11 
27 
12 
20 


23 
14 


7 

13 

7 
2S 
36 
15 

l.T 


3-2 


<u  be 


1 
22 
14 
5 
7 
1 
1 

2 

2 

2 
3 
8 
12 
13 
2 
2 
1 


1 

1 

23 

2 
1 
1 
4 
3 

5 
13 


i Domestic  and  Rural  Legislation.    This  is  the  capitulary  Dn  f'illia 
*  Politica)  Legislation.     Division  of  States. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  4)'S 

Table  of  the  Capitularies  of  Charlemagne— cowi'inacA. 


50 
51 
52 
53 
54 
55 
56 

57 

58 
59 
60 

1 

Date. 

812 
Id. 
Id. 
813 
Id. 
Id. 
Dnto   un- 
certain. 

Id. 
Id. 
Id. 
Id. 

Place 

c" 
o 

.2  5 

.—     CO 

'3*51) 

9 
11 
13 

28 
20 
46 
59 

14 

13 

13 

9 

9 
11 
13 

9 
19 
46 
26 

12 

19 

1 

33 

14 
13 

1 
9 

Boulogne 

Aix-la-Chapelle.. 

Total 

1120 

621 

415 

Surely  such  a  table  gives  evidence  of  great  legislative  ac 
llvity  ;  and  yet  it  says  nothing  of  the  revision  which  Charle 
magne   caused   to   be   made  of  the  ancient   barbarous^  lawsj 
especially  the  Salic  and  Lombard  laws.     In  fact,  activity,  an 
universal  indefatigable  activity,  the  desire  to  think  of  every, 
thing,  of  introducing  everywhere  at  once  animation  and  rule, 
is  the   true,  the   great  characteristic  of  the  government  of 
Charlemagne — the  character  which  he  himself,  and  he  alone, 
impressed   on  his  times.     I   am   about  to  place  before  you  a 
new  proof  of  this.     This  was  not  a  time  (allow  me  the  ex- 
pression) for   much  writing  and  scribbling ;  of  a  surety,  the 
multitude  of  official  acts  drawn  up  under  a  reign  would  not 
prove  any  great  things  in  favor  of  the  genius  of  a  monarch 
in  the   present  day.     It  was  different  with   those  of  Charle- 
magne.    There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  large  number  of 
public  acts  of  all   kinds  which  have  come  down   to  us  from 
it,  is  an  incontestible  testimony  "of  the  immense   and   conta. 
gious  activity,  which  was,  perhaps,  his  greatest  superiority  and 
hi 3  surest  power.     The  following  is  a  table  and  classification 
of  those  acts— of  those,  at  least,  which   have  been  printed  in 
learned  collections.     Many  others  are  doubtless  lost ;  others 
perhaps,  remain  in  manuscript,  and  unknown. 


414 


HISTORY    OF 


Table  of  the  Principal  Diplomas,  Documeiits,  Letters,  and  Variinu 
Acta  emanated  from  Charlemagne  or  other  great  men.  Lay  or  Rr- 
clesiastical,  under  his  Reign. 


6 

<u 

a 

a 

.a 
0 

<r> 
0 
0 

0  to 

CO 

3  . 

bbS 

^  s 
^£ 

°  § 

0 
<! 

Donations  and 
Concessions  to 
Churches. 

Donations  and 
Concessions  to 
Monasteries. 

co' 

.'3 

a 
O 

'a 
> 

769 

23 

6 

17 

3 

4 

14 

2 

770 

10 

3 

13 

5 

8 

3 

771  1 

9 

1 

8 

2 

7 

772' 

33 

7 

20 

2 

12 

16 

1 

i 

773 

18 

2 

16 

2 

9 

a 

1 

774 

21 

7 

14 

2 

1 

3 

7 

"e 

2 

775 

19 

8 

11 

2 

6 

7 

4 

770 

20 

4 

16 

1 

3 

10 

4 

2 

777 

18 

4 

14 

5 

11 

1 

778 

16 

5 

11 

6 

8 

2 

779 

19 

6 

13 

'2 

8 

8 

730 

10 

3 

7 

2 

2 

5 

1 

781 

12 

fl 

6 

2 

2 

1 

5 

3 

782 

21 

6 

15 

0 

4 

'9 

2 

783 

11 

1 

10 

. . 

4 

5 

2 

784 

6 

1 

D 

. , 

2 

2 

2 

785 

15 

15 

1 

7 

6 

1 

7S0 

15 

4 

11 

'2 

4 

(3 

2 

1 

787 

26 

10 

16 

2 

6 

3 

5 

0 

1 

7S8 

27 

3 

24 

3 

0 

2 

12 

7 

1 

739 

16 

7 

9 

3 

2 

1 

6 

1 

3 

790 

22 

11 

11 

2 

3 

2 

14 

1 

791 

20 

1 

19 

1 

4 

12 

2 

1 

792 

7 

1 

6 

1 

1 

5 

793 

28 

3 

25 

4 

1 

1 

7 

12 

3 

794 

20 

S 

12 

7 

4 

4 

3 

2 

795 

14 

3 

11 

1 

3 

5 

3 

2 

796 

32 

4 

28 

2 

3 

15 

11 

1 

797 

15 

8 

7 

4 

1 

3 

5 

2 

798 

21 

0 

19 

2 

2 

10 

5 

1 

799 

27 

3 

24 

4 

4 

6 

6 

0 

800 

23 

6 

17 

3 

,  , 

3 

12 

1 

4 

801 

23 

5 

18 

3 

4 

13 

2 

802 

30 

13 

17 

4 

8 

3 

9 

5 

1 

803 

26 

15 

11 

7 

3 

7 

7 

. . 

2 

804 

38 

5 

33 

0 

2 

9 

21 

. . 

1 

805 

15 

6 

9 

2 

2 

4 

7 

800 

25 

8 

:7 

5 

2 

3 

13 

1 

1 

807 

33 

3 

30    1 

1 

11 

10 

2 

8 

808 

29 

3 

20    1 

.. 

17 

7 

3 

1 

CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE. 


416 


2'able  of  the  Principal  Diploma),,  ^c— continued 


• 

V 

1 

* 

a 

O 

O 

o  o 
2  o 

o   > 

nations  and 
ncessions  to 
urches. 

Donations  and 
Concessions  to 
Monasteries. 

91 

0) 

3 
o 

< 

0) 

a 
o 

Q 

s 
Z, 

o 

O 

< 

< 

O    O  J3 

QUO 

1— 1 

809 

If) 

5 

10 

3 

2 

5 

1 

4 

810 

19 

6 

13 

3 

1 

5 

8 

1 

811 

27 

5 

22 

4 

1 

7 

14 

1 

812 

19 

7 

12 

5 

1 

10 

3 

813 

42 

.3 

29 

4 

6 

G 

20 

814 

13 

7 

1 

2 

Year    un 

crrMin 

194 

19 

175 

4 

2 

129 

27 

21 
155 

11 

745 

257 

S7S 

SO 

87 

322 

428 

73 

Note  —The  elements  of  this  table  are  taken  from  the  "  History  of 
the  Germanic  Empire"  of  Count  Biinau,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  872—930;  Leip- 
lick,  1732. 

Such  are  the  facts— at  least,  such  are  the  frames  in  which 
Ihey  are  placed.  Now,  I  here  reproduce  the  question  which 
I  raised  just  now  concerning  the  wars  of  Charlemagne.  Is  it 
true,  is  it  possible,  that  of  this  government,  so  active  and 
vigorous,  nothing  remained— that  all  disappeared  with  Char- 
lemagne—tliat  he  founded  nothing  for  the  internal  consolidation 
of  society  ? 

What  fell  with  Charlemagne,  what  rested  upon  him  alone, 
and  could  not  survive  him,  was  the  central  government 
After  continuing  some  time  under  Louis  le  Debonnaire  and 
Charles  le  Chauve,  but  with  less  and  less  energy  and  influ- 
ence,  the  general  assemblies,  the  missi  dominici,  the  whole 
machinery  of  the  central  and  sovereign  administration,  dis- 
appeared.  Not  so  the  local  government,  the  dukes,  counts, 
vicaires,  centeniers,  beneficiaries,  vassals,  who  held  authority 
in  tlieir  several  neighborhoods  under  the  rule  of  Charle- 
laaane.  Before  his  time,  the  disorder  had  been  as  great  in 
each  locality  as  in  the  commonwealth  generally  ;  landed  pro- 
porties,  magistracies  were  incessantly  changing   hands  ;  nc 


lift  HISTOHY    OF 

local  positions  or  influences  possessed  any  steadiness  or  per 
manonce.  During  the  forty-six  years  of  his  government 
tliese  influences  had  time  to  become  rooted  in  the  same  soil, 
in  the  same  families ;  they  had  acquired  stability,  the  first 
condition  of  the  progress  which  was  destined  to  render  them 
independent  and  hereditary,  and  make  them  the  elements  of 
the  feudal  regime.  Nothing,  certainly,  less  resembles  feu. 
dalism  than  the  sovereign  unity  which  Charlemagne  aspired 
to  establish ;  yet  he  is  the  true  ibunder  of  feudal  society  '  it 
was  he  who,  by  arresting  the  external  invasions,  and  repress 
ing,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  intestine  disorders,  gave  to  local 
situations,  fortunes,  influences,  suflicicnt  time  to  take  real 
possession  of  the  country.  After  him,  his  general  govern, 
ment  perished  like  his  conquests  ;  his  unity  of  authority  like 
his  extended  empire;  but  as  the  empire  was  broken  into 
separate  states,  which  acquired  a  vigorous  and  durable  life, 
so  the  central  sovereignty  of  Chademagne  resolved  itself 
into  a  multitude  of  local  sovereignties,  to  which  a  portion  of 
the  strength  of  his  government  had  been  imparted,  and  which 
had  acquired  under  its  shelter  the  conditions  requisite  for 
reality  and  durability ;  so  that  in  this  second  point  of  view, 
in  his  civil  as  well  as  military  capacity,  if  we  look  beyond 
first  appearances,  he  accomplished  and  founded  much. 

I  might  show  him  to  you  accomplishing  and  leaving  analo- 
gous results  in  the  church  ;  there  also  he  arrested  dissolution, 
until  his  time  always  increasing  :  there  also  he  gave  society 
lime  to  rest,  to  acquire  some  consistency  and  to  enter  upon 
new  paths.  But  time  presses  :  I  have  yet  at  present  to  speak 
0  the  influence  of  Charlemagne  in  the  intellectual  order,  and 
of  the  place  occupied  by  his  reign  in  the  history  of  the  human 
mind;  scarcely  shall  I  be  able  to  point  out  the  principal 
features. 

It  is  more  difficult  here  than  anywhere  else  to  sum  up 
facts  and  present  them  in  a  table.  The  acts  of  Charlemagne 
in  favor  of  moral  civilization  form  no  entirety,  manifest  no 
systematic  form ;  they  are  isolated,  scattered  acts  ;  at  times 
the  foundation  of  certain  schools,  at  times  measures  taken  for 
the  improvement  of  ecclesiastical  offices,  and  the  progress  of 
the  knowledge  which  depends  on  them  ;  also  general  recom- 
mendations for  the  instruction  of  priests  and  laymen  j  bill 
most  frequently  an  eager  protection  of  distinguished  men,  and 
a  particular  care   to  surround  himsell  with  them. 


CIVILIZATION    IN    fRANCP.. 


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CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  421 

There  is  nothing  systematic,  nothing  that  can  l)e  estimate  J 
by  the  mere  juxtaposition  of  figures  and  words.  I  wish,  how 
ever,  will)  a  touch,  and  without  entering  into  details,  to  place 
before  you  some  facts  which  may  give  you  an  idea  of  that  kind 
of  action  of  Charlemagne,  of  which  more  is  said  than  is  known. 
It  appears  to  me  that  a  table  of  the  celebrated  men  who  were 
born  and  died  under  his  reign — that  is,  of  the  celebrated  men 
whom  he  employed,  and  those  whom  he  made — would  tend 
efficiently  towards  this  end  ;  this  body  of  names  and  of  works 
may  be  taken  as  a  decided  proof,  and  even  as  a  correcl 
estimate  of  the  influence  of  Charlemigne  over  minds. 

Surely  such  a  table  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  at  this  epoch, 
and  under  the  star  of  Charlemagne,  intellectual  activity  waa 
great.  Recall  to  your  minds  the  times  from  whence  we  set 
out;  call  to  mind  that  from  the  sixth  to  the  eighth  century, 
we  had  great  difliculty  in  finding  any  names,  any  works  ;  that 
sermons  and  legends  were  almost  the  only  monuments  which 
we  encountered.  Here,  on  the  contrary,  you  see  reappear, 
and  that  almost  at  once,  philosophical,  historical,  philological, 
and  critical  writings  ;  you  find  yourself  in  the  presence  of 
study  and  science — that  is  to  say,  of  pure  and  disinterested 
intellectual  activity,  of  the  real  movement  of  mind.  I  shall 
soon  discuss  witli  you,  in  a  more  detailed  manner,  the  men 
and  the  works  I  have  just  named,  and  you  will  see  that  they 
truly  commence  a  new  epoch,  and  merit  the  most  serious 
attention. 

Now,  I  ask,  have  we  a  right  to  say  that  Charlemagne  has 
founded  nothing,  that  nothing  remains  of  his  works?  I  have 
merely  given  you  a  glimpse,  as  in  a  transient  panorama,  of 
their  principal  results  ;  and  yet  their  permanence  is  thus 
shown  therein  as  clearly  as  their  grandeur.  It  is  evident 
that,  by  his  wars,  by  his  government,  and  by  his  action  upon 
minds,  Charlemagne  has  left  the  most  profoun'^  traces ;  that 
if  many  of  the  things  he  did  perished  with  him,  many  others 
have  survived  him  ;  that  western  Europe,  in  a  word,  left  his 
hands  entirely  different  from  what  it  was  when  he  received 
it. 

What  is  the  general  dominant  character  of  this  change,  of 
the  crisis  over  which  Charlemagne  presided  ? 

Take  in  at  one  view,  that  history  of  the  civilization  in 
France  under  the  Merovingian  kings  which  we  have  just  stu 
died  ;  it  is  the  history  of  a  constant,  universal  decline.  In 
individual  man  as  in  society,  in  the  religious  <?ocieiv   as  io 


123  HISTORY    OF 

c'l'A  society,  everywhere  we  nave  seen  anarchy  and  weak- 
ness extending  itself  more  and  more ;  we  have  seen  every 
thing  become  enervated  and  dissolved,  both  institntions  and 
ideas,  what  remained  of  the  Roman  world  and  what  tlie  Ger 
mans  had  introduced.  Up  to  tlie  eighth  century,  nothing  of 
what  had  formerly  been  could  continue  to  exist  ;  nothing 
which  seemed  to  dawn  could  succeed  in  fixing  itself. 

Dating  from  Charlemagne,  the  face  of  things  clianges  ;  de- 
cay  is  arrested,  progress  recommences.  Yet  for  a  long  period 
the  dison'  r  will  be  enormous,  the  progress  partial,  but  little 
visible,  or  often  suspended.  Tiiis  matters  not :  we  shall  no 
more  encounter  those  long  agea  of  disorganizati^ai,  of  always 
increasing  intellectual  sterility  :  through  a  thousand  suffer- 
ings, a  thousand  interruptions,  we  shall  see  power  and  life 
revive  in  man  and  in  society.  Charlemagne  marks  the  limit 
at  which  the  dissolution  of  the  ancient  Roman  and  barbarian 
world  is  consummated,  and  where  really  begins  the  formation 
of  modern  Europe,  of  the  new  world.  It  was  under  his  reign, 
and  as  it  were  under  his  hand,  that  the  shock  took  place  by 
which  European  society,  turning  right  round,  left  the  paths 
of  destruction  to  enter  those  of  creation. 

If  you  would  know  truly  what  perished  \vith  him,  and 
what,  independently  of  the  changes  of  form  and  appearance,  is 
the  portion  of  his  works  which  did  not  survive  him,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  it  is  tliis  : 

In  opening  this  course,  the  first  fact  which  presented  itself 
to  your  eyes,  tiie  first  spectacle  at  which  we  were  present, 
was  that  of  the  old  Roman  empire  struggling  with  the  barba- 
rians.  The  latter  triumphed  ;  they  destroyed  tlie  Empire. 
In  combating  it,  they  respected  it ;  no  sooner  had  they  des- 
troyed  it,  than  they  aspired  to  reproduce  it.  All  the  great 
barbaric  chiefs,  Ataulphe,  Theodoric,  Euric,  Clovis,  showed 
themselves  full  of  the  desire  of  succeeding  to  the  Roman  em- 
perors, of  adapting  their  tribes  to  the  frame  of  that  society 
which  they  had  conquered.  None  of  them  succeeded  there- 
in ;  none  of  them  contrived  to  resuscitate  the  name  and  forms 
of  the  empire,  even  for  a  moment;  they  were  oveicome  by 
that  torrent  of  invasion,  by  that  general  course  of  dissolutisn 
«hich  carried  all  things  before  it  ;  barbarism  incessantly  ex- 
tended and  renewed  itself,  but  the  Roman  empire  was  still 
piesent  to  all  imagination  ;  it  was  between  barbarism  and 
Roman  civilization  that,  in  all  minds  of  any  compass  at  all. 
tlie  question  lay.         • 


CIVILIZATION    IN    FRANCE.  423 

It  was  Still  in  tliis  positiorr  wlidn  Cliarlemagne  appealed; 
le  also,  he  especially  nursed  the  hope  of  resolving  it,  as  all 
the  great  barbarians  who  went  before  hitn  had  wished  to  re- 
solve it, — that  is  to  say  by  reconstituting  the  empire.  What 
Ui(x;letian,  Constantino,  Julian,  had  attempted  to  maintain 
with  the  old  wiecks  of  the  Roman  legions,  tliat  is,  the  strug- 
<rle  atrainst  the  invasion,  Charlemagne  undertook  to  do  with 
Franks,  Goths,  and  Lombards:  he  occupied  the  same  terri- 
tory ;  ho  proposed  to  himself  the  same  design.  Without,  and 
almost  always  on  the  same  frontiers,  he  maintained  the  samt 
struggle  ;  within,  he  restored  its  name  to  the  empire,  he  at. 
tem[tted  to  bring  back  the  unity  of  its  administration;  he 
olaccd  the  imperial  crown  upon  his  head.  Strange  contrast! 
He  dwelt  in  Germany  ;  in  war,  in  national  assemblies,  in  thef 
interior  of  his  family,  he  acted  as  a  German  ;  his  personal 
nature,  his  language,  his  manners,  his  external  form,  his  way 
of  living,  were  German  ;  and  not  only  were  they  German, 
but  he  did  not  desire  to  change  them.  "  He  always  wore," 
says  Eginhard,  "  the  habit  of  his  fathers,  the  habit  of  the 
Franks.  .  .  .  Foreign  costumes,  however  rich,  he  scorned, 
and  suffered  no  one  to  be  clothed  with  them.  Twice  only 
during  the  stay  which  he  made  at  Rome,  first  at  the  request 
of  pope  Adrian,  and  then  at  the  solicitation  of  Leo,  the  suc- 
cessor of  that  pontiff,  he  consented  to  wear  the  long  tunic,  the 
chiamys,  and  the  Roman  sandal."  He  was,  in  fact,  com- 
pletely German,  with  the  exception  of  the  ambition  of  his 
thought ;  it  was  towards  the  Roman  empire,  towards  Roman 
civilization  that  it  tended  ;  that  was  what  he  desired  to  estab- 
lish, with  barbarians  as  his  instruments. 

This  was,  in  him,  the  portion  of  egoism  and  illusion ;  and 
in  this  it  was  that  he  failed.  The  Roman  empire,  and  its 
unity,  were  invincibly  repugnant  to  the  new  distribution  of 
the  population,  the  new  relations,  the  new  moral  condition 
of  mankind  ;  Roman  civilization  could  only  enter  as  a  trans- 
formed element  into  the  new  world  which  was  preparing. 
This  idea,  the  aspiration  of  Charlemagne,  was  not  a  public 
idea,  nor  a  public  want ;  all  that  he  did  for  its  accomplish, 
ujcnt  perished  with  him.  Yet  even  of  this  vain  endeavol 
something  remained.  The  name  of  the  western  empire, 
revived  by  him,  and  the  rights  which  were  thought  to  be 
attached  to  the  title  of  emperor,  resumed  their  place  among 
ihe  elements  of  history,  and  were  for  several  centuries  longer 
an  object  of  ambition,*  an   influencing   principle  of  events. 


424  .        BISTOHY    OF 

Even,  therefore,  in  the  purely  egoistical  and  ephemera, 
portion  of  his  operations,  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  ideas  of 
Charlemagne  were  absolutely  sterile,  nor.  totally  devoid  of 
duration. 

Here  we  must  stop ;  the  way  is  long,  and  I  have  proceeaea 
so  quickly  that  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  describe  the  j:rinci. 
pal  events  of  the  journey.  It  is  difficult,  it  is  fatiguing  to 
have  to  compress  within  a  few  pages  what  filled  the  life  of  a 
great  man.  I  have  as  yet  only  been  able  to  give  you  u 
general  idea  of  the  reign  of  Charlemagne,  and  of  his  place  in 
the  history  of  our  civilizatbn.  I  shall  probably  employ  many 
of  the  following  lectures  in  making  you  acquainted  with  liini 
under  certain  special  relations  j  though  I  shall  be  very  f^ 
from  doing  justice  to  the  subject. 


END  OF  VOL.  If. 


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HE  RISE  AND   GROWTH  OF  THE  ENG 

LISH  NA  riON.      With  Special   Reference  to  Epochs  a- 
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New  York  :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


DATE  DUE 


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